The Perfect Blend
by Mlsts51
Summary: Michonne Andrews has never met Rick Grimes. Yet, she has something, or rather someone that belongs to him. After their first encounter turns disastrous, she decides not to reveal her secret. Rick, however, still discovers the truth and a battle between them ensues. Unexpectedly, though, their hearts become casualties of their war.
1. Not again

**A/N:** Hey folks. I was in two minds about this story, but a friend told me to take a shot at it and so I did. This is based on the short story _Raising his Baby_ by Tressie Lockwood. Really cute. And so lovely. Lol. But I got inspired to put my own Richonne spin on it. So hope you enjoy this too. Thanks in advance for reading - ML.

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 **Chapter 1:**

 **Not Again**

This was it. The day he'd secure a new beginning.

On the morning of August 8th, 2010, Rick Romano-Grimes stepped outside onto his veranda and examined a pure blue sky that was untouched by any cloud as far as the edge of the horizon. From his wanting, top floor condo, the coastal setting below was idyllic, the air around him was cool and salty, and the warmth from the sun eased his troubled mind. The thought of how everything in his life was about to change, in less than an hour, was daunting. Yet, it held a savory slice of hope. So he sucked in a deep breath, shoved his shaky hand into the right pocket of his grey slacks, and his fingers fumbled with the black, velvet box tucked away in the corner.

Like a magic token, it was meant to soothe his pain.

No, no this was the right thing to do, he reminded himself. Whatever it took to get back on track in achieving his goals for the future.

In the early daylight, his black Martegani shoes gleamed when he exited the elevator down on the ground floor and approached his A5 Sportback. Like his footwear, not a speck of dust, or sand for that matter, could be found on an inch of the metallic blue vehicle. A feat for any resident of Tybee Island, Georgia.

As he drove down Dawn Boulevard, a carload of teenage boys with the top down on their off-road mini SUV, sped past him in the opposite direction, heading towards the beach. He smiled. Not an uncommon sight for this time of the day at this particular time of the year. And Rick was sure within the next few hours, the shoreline would be littered with families visiting from the mainland on vacation, to enjoy the physical perfection of the day. He himself had not stepped foot in the ocean in years despite living a stone's throw away. Maybe if he'd had a family of his own by now, it would've been different. But as fate would have it, love and romance had not been kind to him.

This time, however, on this day he was taking matters into his own hands.

After a half hour's drive, he was back in Savannah and less than two miles away from his current girlfriend's house at the end of Amber Lyn Street. Again, he drew in a deep, calming breath, and clutched his steering wheel.

 _Jessica…Beautiful Jessica. The answer to my prayers._

He planned on proposing to her, on asking her to be his wife…

Right?

Rick's tires screeched to a halt.

Hold on now, what's going on? Why the heck was he turning his car around, peeling off into the opposite direction?

Because his damned stomach was suddenly raging against him, that's why. Instead of making a right, which was the direct route to her home, Rick suddenly took a left.

"Come on man," he chided himself. "Don't be a wuss. Stick it out."

But no, he just kept driving. Suddenly, images of Josanna Johnson streaked through his mind. Five foot ten, with luscious auburn hair and jade-green eyes. At twenty-two, fresh out of college, she was the first woman who had captured his heart ten years ago. And not just his heart, but his mind, body, and soul…

And ten million dollars of his fortune.

She then disappeared without a trace, effectively slicing his heart wide open, his belief in love ripped to shreds. That is, until five years later when he'd met and fell head over heels for Mary-Ann Lockwood.

Mary-Ann was a petite country singer. A lovely brunette whom he'd actually entertained the idea of marrying and having children with. But alas, that dream also proved to be quite foolish as he suffered another humiliating blow. Turned out that she was in denial of being in love with someone else—her band-mate the guitarist. Whose name also happened to be, as luck would have it, Josanna.

Oh yeah. Fun times, right? Wrong. No Rick was definitely not a man who could claim he was ever fortunate in love.

A traffic light finally forced him to mash his brakes. He felt his heart thundering inside his chest, his pulse galloping a mile a minute. Despite being cool-headed and quick on the draw when it came to running Romano-Grimes Department Stores, the thriving family business, Rick was always the awkward and shy one, particularly around the fairer sex. He loathed it. His self-consciousness hindered him from being his natural self. The embarrassing fact of the matter was that his diffidence only ever ceased to exist when he was in his younger brother's presence. Shane—the baby in the family.

For most of his life, the youngest Grimes progeny had a basic and primal instinct to be an eternal bachelor. The confidence he exuded was enough for him and Rick both when it came to the romance department. Crass, undaunted and defiant, Shane held no qualms about seducing countless women without a sliver of commitment, for as long as he had any breath in him. But that wasn't Rick's way.

On the other hand, as much as Rick disagreed with his brother's torrid lifestyle, he still considered Shane to be his closest advisor and friend. The bad choices they'd made in the past, taught them both that it was best to keep females at arm's length. They understood each other in that. Which was why Rick confided in him and no one else, about his intentions to move forward with Jessica today.

Not unexpectedly, Rick was met with strained silence in response from his baby brother. Which may, or may have not, injected an ounce of doubt.

In any case, he tired of the dating game. At his age, he earnestly wanted to start having little ones of his own to carry on the Grimes' name—to contribute to his family's legacy. To please his Italian mother.

Rick made the block and drove back towards Jessica's residence.

Arriving at his intended destination, at last, he parked right behind the grey Toyota at the end of the driveway. From the backseat, he swiped up the gold wrapped present he'd gotten for her—a framed owl painting she'd fawned over from a recent art show they'd attended—and jumped out from his car. As he pressed his alarm, an unusual sight caught the corner of his eye; a tango red R8 Coupe sat parked on the opposite side, further up the street. For a split second, a ridiculous idea crossed his mind. He couldn't make out the license plate, but there weren't many persons who could've afforded such a flashy car on this side of Savannah. What were the odds that Shane hooked up with a woman in this quaint suburban neighborhood?

Rick shook off his curiosity and refocused on his mission. Burying the present under his arm, he trotted up the red-brick walkway and dug out from his wallet Jessica's house key.

Mrs. Silverman, the neighbor, was out watering her garden. She looked particularly pale, and overly sweaty despite it being only 8:30 a.m.

"Morning Ma'am," Rick said and waved, flashing a gentlemanly smile.

Nothing. He got no response.

Rick smiled wider and pointed to the brilliant sky. He was all about being the bigger person. "Looks like another scorcher. Don't stay out too long. Wouldn't want you to get a heat stroke."

This time the elderly woman scowled in his direction and it shocked him. He didn't think she'd still hold a grudge against him. It had been what? A month now since she'd caught him late one night, drunkenly revealing himself over her rose bushes? The shame he felt for his regretful behavior burned anew. Still, at her age, Mrs. Silverman should've at least learned how senseless it was to hold a grudge. A valuable lesson he himself at thirty-three, was desperately trying to learn.

"Screw you, you filthy perv," she spat out and proceeded to show him the middle finger.

His eyes bulged and his head jerked back at the potty-mouthed response. "Beg your pardon?"

"You heard me!"

 _Well…Screw you too!_

Without further delay, he jammed the key into the lock and twisted open the knob. He did not knock. He simply walked in. And the moment he did, the moment he crossed that threshold, he knew something was wrong.

"Jess?" Rick inhaled a distinct smell, there was a stale odor of alcohol permeating the air, aggravating his nostrils. Moreover, the apartment was dim and quiet. Why was it so quiet? He wondered. Usually, she'd be on her Orbitrek at this hour getting in her morning workout.

As he turned the corner from the short hallway into her foyer, he discovered shed clothes strewn all over the floor; a blue shirt, a silk blouse, a pair of men's shoes. As a matter of fact, if Rick didn't know any better he could've sworn that the footwear was Italian leather. Very much like the ones he wore right then. Except these were brown. Rick didn't want to believe what his eyes were seeing. Something wrenched inside him. Not his heart...more like his stomach.

He breathed through his mouth as he felt his cheeks grow hot, and his eyes immediately lasered towards the stairway leading up to Jessica's bedroom. He prepared to call out again, but his voice, it got lost.

Just get out! Just go, he commanded himself, but the damage and destruction that awaited nearby commanded his attention more. An equal mixture of idiotic curiosity and sheer disbelief forced him to move forward. Just then, a deep moan coming from the living room area snatched his attention. Rick flung the painting into a nearby vase, sending it crashing to the wooden floor. Huge splinters scattered everywhere, but he didn't even flinch.

Jessica sprang up from the couch. Half dressed in a bra and pencil skirt hiked up to her thighs. Her makeup smeared, her blonde hair disheveled, and her baby-blues went wide with guilt. "Oh my god!"

Suddenly, the room closed in on him. Women, they were all the same, weren't they? Damned leeches every last one of them only concerned about their own endgame, and clearly Jessica was no different. What was he thinking? How many times was he going to get this wrong? How many times was he going to keep making the same stupid mistake?

Thank god he hadn't shelled out more than a couple thousand for the stupid ring.

The man beside her rose up and kept his gaze from meeting Rick's. Unsurprised, but hurt, Rick wanted to break his brother's jaw, let him choke on his teeth. It took everything from him to stand there and not use his clenched fists.

"Nothing happened," Shane said. "We passed out. Beer and Tequila do not go together."

"And that makes this okay?" Rick narrowed his eyes at his brother, at the visible bite marks across his bare chest. He stared at him hard until his vision clouded, wondering what the hell was going on inside Shane's thick head.

"No, no of course not," Jessica jumped off from the couch, her arms shielding her breasts. "I'm so sorry Rick. I got-I got carried away, and my actions are reprehensible I know. Not that that's an excuse but…"

Rick ground his jaw. "But what?"

She gave Shane a sheepish glance and looked back at Rick. "But it's just been such a long time since I felt like this. You're so...cold. You never let me in. No matter what I do there's always been a disconnect between us, and I'm tired of pretending that you would love me someday."

An old friend of his family, Rick had always liked Jessica Adrianne Bellici. More importantly, he trusted her…well as much as one can trust a woman other than their own mother in this day and age. In any case, Jessica's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Bellici, both lawyers, had been acquaintances with his mother, Veronica Romano, since she'd migrated from Italy forty-five years ago.

A lover of equestrian sports, yachts, and contemporary Asian poetry, Jessica by no means held his heart, and she was right she never would. But when together they enjoyed a contented companionship. Albeit bland and ordinary and passionless, he believed that their polite love affair could last for the rest of their lives. He'd never admit it out loud but, this was the best he could do. Not to mention, Rick feared not having the strength to face yet another toxic and unpredictable relationship.

He should have felt guilty at her declaration but truthfully, she didn't love him either, so to hell with her.

"You got played, Jessica. Don't be this naive." He didn't mean for the bitterness to seep out into his tone of voice, but when she cringed he knew he was losing his grip on his emotions. His gaze then bulleted to his scoundrel of a brother. "You really outdid yourself this time asshole."

Up until then, Shane kept his head hung low.

"Hey! Look at me when I'm speaking to you," Rick said, and watched as Shane slowly raised his eyes to meet his. Rick desperately searched for a sliver of remorse. But there was none. Instead, his brother's brows furrowed as his mouth turned grim. His chestnut brown eyes shifted back and forth assessing Rick's reaction.

When a look of satisfaction and victory finally settled on his smug face, Rick's body rocked forward with disappointment. He wanted to barrel ahead and beat the living shit out of his brother. To pummel him till Shane couldn't see straight.

But no. What good would it do to lose himself to violence? Rick grit his teeth and stomped off.

"Hey, Rick…" Shane bolted behind him. "Say, why don't you hold up just a bit let me talk to you for a minute, please?"

"Why should I?"

"C'mon brother. You believe me when I said nothing happened, right?"

"You know what? " He came to a stop and faced him. "I do. But why couldn't you have just told me that Jessica wasn't the one? You didn't have to show me!"

Shane shrugged. "That ain't my way."

"What gives you the right?"

"You're my brother! That's all the right I need. To keep you safe."

"That ain't your call."

Shane grabbed him by the shoulders. "Like hell it is. I'd be damned if I watch you shackle yourself to this broad for the rest of your life. Give her our family's name? She ain't worth it. She ain't worth shit. Did you hear what she just said? How you're cold? Fuck that, she don't know you. I know you. And I'm stopping you from making the biggest mistake of your life."

Rick shoved him off then stormed out. Humiliated. His pride pricked.

"No hard feelings?" Shane called out, standing in the doorway. "Rick? Fratello?"

But Rick ignored him, climbing into his car, his blood pounding in his ears. He had a jeweler to revisit.


	2. The Meet Cute

**Chapter 2:**

 **The Meet Cute**

ONE MONTH LATER

"Whatever you do, do _not_ mess this up."

Michonne Andrews paused from putting the final touches on the blueberry cheesecake cupcakes and looked up at Siddiq Ali; a.k.a. her old high-school friend; a.k.a. the owner of Signature Delicacies; a.k.a...her boss. Tilting her head, she smirked, unable to suppress her amusement at his uncharacteristic irritableness. If there's anything Siddiq was known for, it's his perpetual coolness. His 'positivity is key' ideology. Almost nothing ever ruffled his feathers.

"Don't give me that look young lady," he said, gripping her shoulders. "You. Cannot. Mess this up. This business soiree hosted by the Romano-Grimes is the best gig we've ever had."

She released a sigh of exasperation. "I know."

"Stay sharp. Stay focused. Be perfect."

True she hadn't been working for him for very long, three months to be exact, but he damn well knew how excellent she was at her job. During their teen years, they'd both spent summers working at Carol's Pastry shop in their hometown, and the expert baker taught them everything she'd knew. Siddiq's pacing around, sweating bullets, had nothing to do with the quality of Michonne's services, but everything to do with the high-profile clients booked for today. Honestly, she had no idea why the hell he was getting himself so worked up. Yes their status was intimidating, but these people weren't gods.

He released her and inspected each of the gourmet desserts. Unnecessarily adjusting the mint leaves she'd used as a garnish. "We're lucky that the Pandora caterers cancelled last minute with Chef Zuri out sick."

Michonne stood back folding her arms, watching him fuss over her work. "I know."

"These people have a reputation for being overly demanding, precise even. We have to anticipate their every need. If we mess this job up—"

"We won't. _You_ won't."

He faced her with a false look of resignation. "Everything has to be…"

"Perfect? Yeah, I know."

She took hold of his sweaty hands to cease his fidgeting and gave him a reassuring smile. "Everything already is." Even as she said the words she'd meant it. Not just to pacify her friend, but for her as well.

Everything _was_ simply perfect. What were the odds that the very people for whom she'd uprooted her life, would out of the blue hire Signature Delicacies, the catering company she was employed with, giving her the ideal opportunity to get close and observe them. Without revealing her true identity, of course. It wasn't easy making such a drastic decision—moving from the remote, little town of Senoia, Georgia to the big, developed city of Savannah—in hopes of meeting these strangers. But she did it anyway. She had to. Insisting that Siddiq let her be part of the serving crew for the event, there was no way she was going to allow this chance to slip by.

Knowing that soon enough she would be in close proximity to the rich, and influential Grimes family made her stomach dip for a quick second. She breathed in deep and looked Siddiq straight in the eyes. His face muscles relaxed a bit as he nodded, but her words hadn't completely removed his doubts and fears.

"No one would have recommended you if your food wasn't phenomenal," she said.

An expression of ' _Don't bullshit me'_ creased his features. "Phenomenal?"

"Yes, of course Siddiq. Superb! And your staff? With Eric at the helm, we're gonna kill it. Don't doubt yourself. Not for a second. We're going to impress the pants off of these douchebags, so much so that Pandora would never hear from them again. Got it?"

"Yeah," he answered with a weak smile. "Got it."

"Good," She smacked him lightly in his chest. "Positivity is key, remember? Now stop worrying and let's get this van packed up and hit the road. Nothing is going to go wrong today."

 _Not_ today. Carl's future depended on it.

¥###¥

Hours later, Michonne sought sanctuary in the Romano-Grimes' state-of-the-art gourmet kitchen. This job was taking a toll on her. She perched herself on a stool at the eight-foot-long, cherry wood countertop, and rested. With her right leg stretched out, foot elevated on top of the next seat, she kept a frozen-vegetable pack on her sore ankle.

The day before, at the combat club, she'd suffered a mild sprain after an off-balance fall whilst sparring. As much as it pained her to admit it, she went to the gym in order to alleviate her anxiety about coming there, to that estate today for personal reasons. Other than keeping her in shape, sparring in a boxing ring was cathartic. Growing up, it always helped her, whenever she needed to relieve stress and to dispel any negative energy she was experiencing.

Last night, when she'd gotten home, she had iced her injury, took anti-inflammatory pills, and bandaged her swollen foot before going to bed. With her leg raised on a couple of pillows, she'd slept with Carl snuggled close by her side. It was better that way, so she wouldn't have to get up to tend to him in the middle of the night.

Now though, parading up and down, back and forth, non-stop, was aggravating the sprain and she needed a break.

Through the open French doors that led to the outdoor pool where fifty or so guests milled about, she took a moment to appreciate the secluded surroundings. The mansion was magnificent. Hidden in the midst of lush landscape overlooking Wilmington river, the house boasted eight bedrooms, and just as many bathrooms, a library, two huge dining rooms, an aviary, a dramatic Victorian-styled living room with a saltwater aquarium, and all that just in the East wing.

The wealthy family, who showed obvious pride over their amazing living quarters, were admittedly just as enthralling. Mrs. Veronica Romano-Grimes and her heirs were all dark-haired, refined, and polished. According to her research, Negan, the eldest, had been elected as the Chairman and Chief Executive Officer of their corporation five years ago when his father passed away. His mother held the seat of President, and Shane, the youngest, was the firm's Chief Stores Officer. Every time she passed near that Mr. Shane Grimes though, he'd winked at her. Licked his lips shamelessly, and stripped her naked with his eyes. More than once she'd caught him staring even from a distance and she'd blushed, she couldn't help it. It didn't take a genius to see that that man was incorrigible. No wonder all the gossip blogs had labeled him as Savannah's very own Casanova.

However, the brother she was particularly interested in, the Chief Financial Officer of Romano-Grimes incorporated, was nowhere in sight. Three hours into this damned shindig and she had yet to lay eyes on the elusive Mr. Rick Grimes. She knew what he looked like of course, but she had so many preconceived notions about what he would actually be like in person.

What if Lori was right? What if Rick Grimes was not the type of man one should, or even could get close to? What if she'd made a huge mistake in leaving her old life behind?

"There you are!"

Siddiq burst through the main door and interrupted her thoughts. "I've been looking all over for you. I need you."

Her injured foot eased down to the hardwood floor and she launched her butt off of the stool, feeling a pinch of guilt for being caught at lounging on the job. "Why? What's wrong?"

He paused to take a deep breath. "Nothing's wrong, not really." Her deep frown and worried tone must've made him check his anxiety. He placed his hands on her arms in a gentle way and shook his head. "You're doing great, as always. Just the unexpected came up. Mr. Negan Grimes, he's called an impromptu meeting in his study, along with a handful of executives. He's requested a few platters of food, desserts, and a bar cart."

Michonne set aside the substitute ice pack, ready to get back to work. "Yeah okay. What do you need me to do?"

"Well Rosita and Toby are already on the move. Could you load up a trolley with some cakes, at least with what's left, and join them?"

"Sure. No problem."

"Great. It's the last room to the west of the house, I think."

She gave him an arched look. "You think?"

"Yes...I mean, I know." His wavering expression wasn't too convincing. "Look I'd escort you there myself, but now that the crew's split I have no choice, I need to head back out there and give Eric a hand."

Michonne adjusted the folds of her sleeves at her elbows. "No worries. I'll find it."

Two minutes later, Michonne was pushing a serving cart, full of goodies, down the hallway towards what she believed to be the west wing. The wooden plant stands with their intricate designs, the ornate golden lanterns hanging from above, made her feel as though she were walking through a model of art and not an actual house. With one too many twists and turns, the place seemed to be more of a maze than a home where real people lived. The further she wandered, the less she heard voices.

Finally, the patterned, polished floors came to the end, and there was nowhere else to go, so she knocked on the last door before her.

"Come," a voice responded, low, barely perceptible.

She pressed down on the gold plated lever and opened the mahogany door to an impressive room. A few feet away from the entrance was a step down into a sunken pit. With dark polished wood and leather furniture, brass fixtures, a patterned rug, and an oversized, modern couch which took up the bulk of the cozy area.

It was a den alright, but smaller than she'd expected…

And emptier.

"Hello?" she said. She did hear a voice, didn't she? Someone in that room said to come in. Yet, not a single soul was present. "Okay. Not spooky at all," she mumbled under her breath.

She should've asked Siddiq for clearer directions. But how does one get lost in a house? It was big yes, but not exactly the Windsor castle either. Anyways, long story short, she was definitely in the wrong room. Perhaps she needed to head to the 'other' West wing?

Michonne rolled her eyes, to no one in particular, as she shuffled back out through the doorway.

"I said come!" Suddenly, the same voice spoke up again. This time with such a harsh bark that Michonne's heart leaped to her throat.

"Hell Jerry, is that you? Which part of 'Give me one damned minute,' didn't you understand?"

Startled, she banged her aching ankle against the door jamb and hissed, "Shit."

"Who the hell are you? Did Jerry send you?"

"No, I-I…" Her speech trailed off as the source of that rough, husky voice came into view. She watched as Rick Grimes rose from lying on the huge couch. His gaze scouring her entirely from head to toe, making her insides shrivel.

She recognized the face instantly. And not because of the dozens of photos of him she'd found in the media, but because of her son, Carl. He too possessed those same beautiful eyes that were currently staring back at her. A vivid oceanic blue. Her heart squeezed and her stomach churned, even her mouth felt as if she'd eaten a bag of cotton balls.

"Who _are_ you?" he asked again, as he skulked towards her.

 _Speak. Speak!_

She glanced down at her uniform and looked back up at him. "Catering." She pointed at the golden logo emblazoned on the black waistcoat, and immediately, felt like an idiot.

 _Okay,_ girl _, you can do better than this._

With aplomb, she regained her outward calm and cleared her throat. She tried again. This time more focused. "Catering services, Sir. Signature Delicacies for the party."

He squinted. "What? Where the hell is Olivia?"

"Her chef, he fell ill. We're the replacements."

"Is that right?" The way he stood was so casual, with his feet wide apart and his hands clasped in front of him, that Michonne almost missed the tension in his shoulders. The way his eyes bored into hers. Almost as if he were daring her to lie to him. "Then how come you're here?"

Michonne pushed the door wider and wheeled in the trolley. She lifted her serving tray and offered him a mini-carrot cake with a napkin. "Here. Try this. One of our more popular gourmet cakes."

He didn't smile. But he didn't frown either. Instead, the angles of his jaw tightened with annoyance at her mere presence. But was it her, or the fact that someone had intruded his haven? Michonne was going to give him the benefit of the doubt and go with the latter. She didn't want to hate him right off the bat.

As he stepped closer he damn near snatched the dessert out from her fingers.

"What's in this?" he asked, after sniffing it.

"Beg your pardon?"

"I said what's in this?"

Michonne bit back a laugh. "Well, there's no rat poison in it if that's what you're concerned about." She meant it as a joke but his expression told her that he wasn't amused. Not in the slightest.

"I'm allergic to peanuts, Miss," he growled. "And I'm getting a distinct whiff of pecan in your so-called gourmet cake."

Her eyes widened in total horror. With an equal measure of embarrassment, she seized the dessert from his hand. His sense of smell was spot on. There were candied crumbs of pecan drizzled within the icing. "Oh shit! I'm so sorry. I didn't…We didn't get any instructions pertaining to allergies of any kind. My apologies, Sir…"

"I'm not in the mood for your excuses. Why don't you get out of my study now. No one's supposed to be in here anyway."

"No, wait." She needed to keep it together. She shouldn't let this ogre of a man intimidate her more than he already had. It surprised her how she could easily admit that being in the presence of Rick Grimes for all of sixty seconds was...challenging.

The thing was, she-Michonne Andrews-was a trained fighter. She'd spent over half of her life surrounded by fighters. Hell her first love, Mike, was an amateur, junior heavyweight boxer.

So no. No spoiled, rich, white boy should make her insides quake for one goddamned millisecond. No matter who he was.

Did she want to make a good first impression on him? Yes. She needed to. The whole Grimes family actually, but specifically him. So, as much as she wanted to slap his rude, entitled ass into next Wednesday, Michonne resigned to be on her bestest, most accommodating behavior.

She might even curtsy.

Michonne giggled at the thought.

"What?" Rick Grimes was still staring at her.

"Um, nothing. Here," She switched to the cheesecake cupcakes and pressed one into his hand, "try this. Blueberries. Why don't you go ahead and take a bite out of that. You'll love it. Promise."

She watched him close his eyes, savoring the lemon infused creamy flavor.

For a moment she tried to amuse herself by studying the man. She knew he was in his early thirties, a few years older than her.

Thick brown hair combed neatly back in silk-like waves, hinted that he took good care of himself. As he stood directly across from the floor to ceiling windows, the natural light streaming in behind him highlighted that his locks weren't just brown, but actually honey-toned. Unlike Carl's.

Rick stood some inches taller than her at nearly six feet, his shoulders lean in a royal blue blazer over a crisp white shirt, and as he shifted his weight to his left leg, it made the khakis he wore stretch tight, firmly across his toned thighs.

As soon as he'd finished devouring the treat, she handed him another one. "Have you eaten at all today?"

"Caterers don't get paid extra for not minding their own business, do they?"

"I just call it like I see it," she shrugged, indifferent to his insulting assessment, then smiled because big boys and little boys were all the same—pissey on an empty stomach.

She could see the muscles of his jaw working.

"Maybe," he grumbled and shoved the sweet tidbit into his mouth. He then snapped his fingers and held out his hand in a position to receive a cup. "Coffee."

She blinked at him. Questioning herself on whether or not this jackass was for real. "Um, okay no. I'm sorry, but all beverages are in the main banquet hall." Rick's cold stare cut into her, obviously concluding that she was incompetent. Hell, she had her own conclusions about him as well. "But I could get you a cup if you give me a few minutes," she offered with a heavy sigh, rather than the tongue lashing she felt this jerk needed.

Two seconds after he bit off his preference, Michonne maneuvered her way out and back through the intricate halls once again.

She didn't know what to make of her first encounter with Rick. From all the tidbits she'd gathered about this man, none of it mentioned him as having a reputation for being intolerable. Could it be that the family's influence was enough to keep his short-temper out of the media circuit? Or was it something else? Something personal. Something private he was having a hard time dealing with.

Michonne gave her head slight shake, confused as to why she was coming up with excuses. This ugly attitude of Rick Grimes may very well be just who he is. And if so, maybe it was best to leave things as they were. At the end of the day, she should simply walk away without revealing her true identity and that she was there under false pretenses.

So far she'd barely avoided messing things up. Both for Siddiq and…

 _Oh crap! Siddiq. The meeting._

Michonne pressed her hand to her forehead and quickened her steps. How the hell did her assignment slip completely from her mind?

"Hey, where you've been? Thought you went missing," came a male voice, taunting, flirtatious.

Michonne spun around to come face to face with yet another one of the Grimes brothers, as he came strutting down the grand staircase. Rather than a scowl, this one wore a lopsided grin. The same grin she'd been dodging the whole afternoon.

"Hey. I've been busy, Sir," she muttered, evading direct eye-contact with him. "Hope everything has been satisfactory?"

"Oh yes, most definitely. Can't complain." He approached her, blocking her path. "And darling, please, call me Shane. No need to be so formal especially as it's just the two of us." He winked and extended his hand.

Michonne placed her palm in his, intending for a brief shake, but he took her by surprise when he unabashedly brought her fingers up and brushed them against his lips. Her spine went rigid and she yanked her hand back. A burning irritation flared inside her chest.

"Don't worry. I don't bite." He laughed carelessly. "I must admit, I've had my eye on you. You're a hard worker. Impressive. Wanna tell me what your name is?"

It took everything for Michonne to reign in her annoyance. "Mr. Grimes...Shane," she complied when he held up his palm to remind her of his request, "I'm sure my employer would be glad to hear that our services are up to the ever-elusive Romano-Grimes standards, but—"

He burst out with a more hearty laugh. "Oh, I like that. You are a saucy one, aren't you?"

Wow, Michonne thought, this guy had ' _womanizing_ _creep_ ' written all over his face. Shane Grimes was devilishly handsome, she'd give him that. But if he thought she was about to stand there and allow him to harass her because of his supposed net worth, he had another thing coming. She would rather take a bullet to the leg than put up with his overture advances.

"If you don't mind," She attempted to angle the dessert cart around him, deciding that his entitled ass already consumed more than enough of her generous attention, "I need to get back to work."

He shifted closer to her, a playful expression dancing across his features. "What if I told you that I do mind? You know you are one piccola belleza. You shouldn't be wandering around here alone like this."

"Gee thanks, but I'm a big girl." She continued forward, but he fell into step beside her. "And I wasn't wandering," she corrected him, "The other Mr. Grimes needed something to eat."

His brows furrowed in confusion for a moment. "You mean Rick? Oh! Okay. Well, well, well. I couldn't agree with you more on that one, darling. You know it does my heart good to know a woman such as yourself was willing to oblige my big brother."

"What did you say?" Michonne bristled at the suggestiveness of his statement. Her legs picked up the pace, knowing that if she spent another minute in the presence of this douchebag, she could not be held responsible for her actions. "I don't know what you're talking about, but I really have to get back. I'm supposed to bring these desserts to Mr. Negan Grimes for his conference."

"Oh, I just came from there. It's back that way, on the second floor."

Michonne came to a stop. She was grateful for the clearer directions but strangely felt conflicted over her promise to fetch Rick Grimes his coffee. Rosita and Toby must be wondering where the hell she was by now. She turned the cart around deciding to fulfill her first obligation.

"Here," Suddenly, Shane tried to nudge her aside. "Let me help you with that."

As she tried to resist, her aching ankle twisted, sending a ratcheting pain straight up her leg. She stumbled, even knocking a few desserts to the floor. When it seemed as though she couldn't regain her balance, Shane's arms flew out to catch her. Michonne leaned against the hard planes of his chest. Just for a few seconds. She grit her teeth against the pain. Being a couple of inches taller, Shane's chin grazed her temple as he steadied her. His cologne, on the other hand, was suffocating so she pressed her hands against his arms to shove him off.

"What the hell is this?" Rick roared. "That's it. Pack your things and get out."

"Hey, hey fratello," Shane said, "Don't go jumping the gun. Just a little accident, no harm, no foul."

"No harm, no foul?" Rick spat. His eyes turned vacant. Cold as ice.

Michonne backed herself against the wall as the two brothers burst into a heated argument. Half in English half in Italian, it seemed. Rick made nasty accusations against Shane, while Shane vehemently tried to defend himself. She couldn't quite follow along as the throbbing pain clouded her senses, but the scene solidified her decision—Rick Grimes would never be a part of Carl's life. She would keep her son a secret.

"Why are you still here?"

She looked up. Those eyes. Those damned eyes. Narrow and suspicious, alert and dangerous, were now directly on her.

"Didn't you hear me?"

Michonne squared herself against him and scoffed. "You can't fire me."

"Think I just did. I want you to leave."

Michonne had had enough of this offensive treatment, wondering how much more did he expect her to take. No longer concerned about making a good impression she let this asshole have it. "Let me make myself clear. If you think I am simply going to scurry away like a frightened little mouse, then you have another thing coming. Nothing I said or did warrant your abrupt course of action. As a matter of fact, whatever you have going on with your brother, has nothing at all to do with me. You just met me. You have no idea who I am or what my name is. I am not some thirsty female or a hussy or an easy lay or whatever. So with all due respect, Sir, fuck off!"

Both men went silent. They only stared at her for a long while, wide-eyed. With each second that ticked by, thick regret started to seep in.

Shit.

Didn't she receive specific instructions to not mess this up? But here she was, messing things up, on a whole other level. Shit! The moment they lodge a complaint with Siddiq, would be the moment he would dismiss her. But that wasn't important anymore, was it? Because she would be leaving Savannah anyway. So that didn't matter. What mattered was the reputation of Signature Delicacies. Word would get around about the staff's lack of professionalism and… Shit! She really messed things up. How was she going to fix it?

Eventually, it was Rick who broke the tense silence. His voice no longer roaring at an ear-splitting level, but calm and even. "What makes you think I called you a hussy?"

"Excuse me?" she said.

"You're not a hussy. Why would you say that?"

"Oh, I," Michonne tried to collect herself. "Um, I can understand Italian. But just a little bit. Nothing much."

Surprise registered on both their faces. Rick studied her as he stepped forward, conflicted on what this new piece of information should mean to him. "You took it in High School? College?"

"No," she said.

"Traveled to Italy or something? Boyfriend?"

"No, and no." She preferred not to elaborate, further incensed at the ridiculous interrogation. But she didn't want to lie either. What? Was it some secret language no one was supposed to know about? She glanced at Shane, he looked amused.

"Forget it, Rick," Shane reached out and tugged on his shoulder. "Stop being so suspicious."

Still, Rick inched nearer, pinning her with an accusatory look. "Well maybe I would if she stopped _acting_ so suspicious."

Michonne's stomach clenched. "What are you talking about?" she muttered.

"Something about the way you're looking at me."

"It's called disgust."

"And a bit of a coincidence, don't you think?"

For a moment her gaze fell away. She really didn't want to be forced into outright deception, but he didn't deserve to know the truth about her either. If he wanted her to leave, then fine, she'd leave. Besides, her stupid foot was killing her.

A groan must've escaped past her lips, as she leaned back against the wall to relieve the pressure, because the next thing she knew Rick Grimes had his hand on her shoulder.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's nothing," she mumbled, "just…just my ankle."

"Check her," Shane ordered.

In a second Rick crouched to her feet and bit off a curse at the sight of the puffy swelling. "Why didn't you say anything?" he hissed.

"I'm fine. It's nothing—Wait!"

Mid-protest, Michonne was scooped up from off the floor. Rick held her firmly in his arms and she found herself cradled against his chest. Lean and muscular, she realized, like his brother's. But not quite. Her body stiffened and he gripped her tighter.

"Relax," he said, with unexpected tenderness. And surprisingly, she did.

What was also surprising, was the surge of flurries invading her stomach. So much so, that she felt powerless to struggle against him. She had no desire to. With the absence of further protest, Rick whisked her back to his den and Michonne had a gut feeling that she would not be leaving Savannah.

Not anytime soon.


	3. Where to Now?

**Chapter: 3**

 **Where to now? Crossroads.**

The instant Rick Grimes placed Michonne across his couch, she'd recovered her senses. Releasing her locs from the tightly wound French braid, helped ease her tension, and she took a moment to close her eyes and lay back. It wasn't her aim for things to go this way. Not in the slightest. Not even close.

But here she was. Caught up in the strangest predicament. So what the hell was she going to do now?

By the time a pile of cushions had been tucked behind her back, and two pillows propped beneath her legs, someone had summoned Negan. The family's matriarch also made an appearance not too far behind. It was somewhat comical the way they'd stormed into Rick's den. They bypassed her, without so much as a glimpse in her direction, to join Rick and Shane, who stood engrossed in a serious debate outside on the private terrace. Directing her attention towards the door, Michonne wondered, what in God's name the fuss was all about.

In the meantime, they saddled a young woman who trailed in afterwards, with the task of tending to her. Conservatively dressed in a cream-colored pantsuit whilst sporting a bob hairstyle, the second she traipsed into the room, Michonne recognized her as being Negan Grimes' newly acquired wife, according to the business journals.

Sherry. That's how she introduced herself. Just Sherry. And although _Sherry_ was pleasant enough and quiet, Michonne got the sense that the 'little lady' was rather astute. Good for her. Well done. One needed to be, to fit in with this theatrical family.

After accepting the bottled water and the two aspirin placed in her hands, Michonne attuned her ears to the conversation being had on the other side of the door. Their voices were constantly rising and falling, their opinions overlapping each other's, so she only caught snippets of, "Quietly and quickly…" and "Have to be smart..." and "Can't be too careful..."

Regardless, she knew they were talking about her. But why?

When they'd finally come to some sort of agreement, it was Negan who flung open the ornate wooden doors and addressed her. From what she had read in all the news articles, the head of the Romano-Grimes corporation was ruthless and manipulative. Most recently, he acquired fifty acres of waterside land on the west coast, despite many, many objections.

Now, this same man stood towering over her with a too broad of a smile on his face.

"First off," he began, "on behalf of my people—my family—let me apologize for the reckless behavior of my brothers. It's not our way."

"No, it isn't," said his mother, with an imperial air. Her Italian accent thick.

Standing to the forefront, Michonne saw Negan as the 'protector' of the family. Intent on dominating everyone in his presence. He tried to come across as intimidating, in a smarmy kind of way. Especially with that stupid grin plastered across his face. But nope, _she_ was not having it.

Michonne straightened herself upright and pressed her lips into a firm line. "You're too kind, but…"

Negan raised his hand to silence her, then he continued. "We feel it is of utmost importance Miss…I'm sorry," he offered his hand, "Negan Grimes."

"Andrews. Michonne Andrews," she accepted.

"Okay, good. Miss Andrews, we need to get you to a doctor, as soon as possible. Your medical bills will not be an issue, so don't you worry about a thing. They would be paid in full by the Romano-Grimes corporation."

"Not to sound ungrateful for your...offer, but what I need is to get home. Not a hospital," she argued. "It's just a grade one sprain—mild ligament damage. Nothing's torn."

"Sorry dear, but it's not up for discussion." His grin widened and she balked.

"I'm okay. A new bandage, some pillows and I'll manage just fine."

"No," Rick said, stepping forward now, "Negan's right. I'll take you."

 _Like hell you are._

Her grimace must've been blatant because Rick then pushed past his big brother and knelt down before her. "I'll be on my best behavior. Promise."

She shook her head. These people weren't listening to her. "This is not that serious. It usually never is."

"Wait," Negan said, placing his hand on Rick's shoulder, "Are you saying you're accident prone?"

"That doesn't matter," Rick shrugged him off. He then stood up with his hand held out. "Come on. Let's get you taken cared of."

It seemed like the only way to put an end to the absurd situation was to capitulate to their charge. Defeated, Michonne reluctantly allowed Rick Grimes to assist her to her feet and guide her out a side entrance of the house. Warmth from his hands around her waist traveled in both directions. She mentally had to block him out.

Once outside, to her surprise, an Audi and a chauffeur were already waiting for their arrival. The broad-shouldered driver, who wore his long dark hair drawn back into a ponytail, took great care to ease her into the backseat. As soon as Rick settled beside her, and his door shut behind him, the luxury vehicle sped out the lengthy driveway.

He slid to the edge of his seat and leaned forward. "Jerry, St. Clair Medical."

"Roger that, Boss," the man replied.

As Rick sat back, the whiff of his scent which she'd caught momentarily before, now caressed her senses in the confined space of the car. Her stomach flipped-flopped several times, and she found it hard to believe that she should be reacting this way. To him. Of all the men in Georgia.

 _Jesus, Lord._

With one hand Michonne clutched the door handle, and with the other, she pulled her phone from her front pocket and dialed Siddiq.

The moment he picked up she updated him on her situation. She apologized for the inconvenience, promised that she was okay, and asked kindly if Rosita could deliver her bag to St. Charles Medical.

"Is this is all really necessary?" she protested again, as soon as her call ended.

"I'm afraid it is," Rick said.

She glanced ahead at the large-framed driver and lowered her voice. "Why? Liability?"

He shifted and crossed his legs. "Yes," he confirmed, tugging one ankle over the other knee. "My family does not take workers being injured on the job lightly. Especially if I or my brother are to be blamed. We could be sued."

"If that's the case then I don't think you should've just told me that."

Red surged to his cheeks and he zipped his gaze around to the window, embarrassed by her directness. "You're right. I shouldn't have."

Michonne folded in her bottom lip and gazed through her own window. So it was guilt behind this precautionary measure. Not kindness or concern. Michonne slowly stretched out her leg and looked down at the thickness of her ankle. "I'm not going to sue," she said quietly, after a few thoughtful seconds. "I hurt myself the night before. I'm willing to sign a statement attesting to that. If you want."

He released a weary sigh, "Thank you."

For the balance of the car ride, Michonne rest her cheek against her fist and closed her eyes again. Surrendering, for a moment, to the lulling side effects of the aspirin. What she wouldn't give to sink into the soft lather of a bubble bath. Ensconced in the relaxing scent of mint and aloe vera to chase the bizarreness of the day away. Who could've predicted this embarrassing disaster would unfold, not just between her and Rick, but the entire Grimes clan?

"What makes you so sure?" Rick's voice suddenly drew her attention.

Michonne lifted her head and turned her drowsy gaze towards him. She couldn't pinpoint what exactly he was referring to.

"What you said back there, what makes you an expert on minor injuries?" he asked.

"Oh, I um, I used to manage my father's gym," she answered, deciding it was safe to reveal minor details about herself. "Half of my life has been spent around boxers so yeah, I picked up a few things." The corners of her lips quirked up in a cocky smile.

His eyebrows rose. "And how did you pick up Italian?"

She laughed. "Why is that important?"

"Just…" he shrugged and smiled, almost shyly, "Just interesting, is all."

Gone were the cold daggers he'd lambasted her with minutes ago. Now, there was a softness to his speculation. The raging ogre of a man had apparently been replaced with someone else. Someone who could possibly be mistaken as gentle and kind.

Repeatedly, he rubbed his hand over his jutted knee, which also made seem awkward. He had a temper, yes, but he lacked the excessive cockiness of Shane, and the despotic nature of Negan. He was different. Or maybe she just hoped so.

Either way, what was the real reason behind his change of face?

Right as he started mumbling something else, her cell phone rang. Glancing down, she saw her babysitter's name flash across the screen. For a second she froze. She needed to handle that call discreetly. Angling her head away for privacy, Michonne let her locs fall forward and curtain her face from his view.

She picked up on the third ring. "Hey. Everything's okay?"

"Sort of," the sitter replied, "I don't mean to disturb you but—"

"No, Paul, you're not. What's wrong?"

"Well," he sighed, "nothing major, it's just that Carl's refusing to take his nap. It's like a full-blown rebellion over here. Anarchy. Screaming, crying, throwing his blocks everywhere. I could tell he's tired, you know? But the little tyke won't give it up. He won't let me put him down."

Michonne couldn't help chuckling at the despair in the grown man's voice. She'd fought that same battle with Carl every night over the past weekend. He kept rubbing his droopy eyes but refused to go to bed. It's like he suddenly realizes that the world continues on without him, even when he's not awake, and little man didn't want to miss out.

She cupped the phone to her mouth. "Strip him down to his pull-ups, he might be a little overheated, and put him back into his crib. Then try hanging blankets over his windows making his room as dark as possible. Make the whole apartment as quiet as possible, with only some white noise in the background. It worked for me last Saturday. He should drift off eventually. If he does, call me back or text me."

"Okay, thanks. I'll give it a shot. If it doesn't work though, I'll take him down to the park if that's okay?"

"Of course. Good luck," she teased before ending the call.

Michonne considered herself fortunate for having moved into a building with a certified sitter as her neighbor. Raising a toddler on her own sometimes felt impossible. The relocation to a strange city could've made the challenge that much more difficult if it weren't for Paul being readily available.

"You're a mother?" Rick asked as she tucked her phone back into her pocket. Well, someone's not above eavesdropping.

"An aunt, actually." Michonne's heart thundered at the half-truth. Her father always said she sucked at lying.

"A boy?"

She nodded.

"Any pictures?"

She cleared her throat uncomfortably and shook her head. "No."

Damn it. Her heart just took a nosedive to the pit of her stomach with that full lie.

Rick's perceptive eyes squinted, expecting a further explanation. She gave him none, however, and felt her chest tightening, the small compartment closing in on her. She curled herself towards the door and refocused her gaze to the world outside. On the other hand, he continued to stare at her. Every molecule of her body was aware of it. Was aware of him. And she wished like hell to get some distance between them before she blurted out everything. Now was not the time nor place for that discussion.

"We're here," announced the driver, the car slowing to a stop. And not a moment too soon.

Michonne shoved her door open, but felt a grip at her elbow as Rick ordered her to stay put and not to move. Moments later, he blocked her exit. A pair of strong hands then slipped under her arms and bodily brought her to her feet.

Reflex made her grasp his upper arms to steady herself. Her fingers acutely aware of the hard biceps flexed beneath them. She risked a glance up at him. He gave her a small smile, encouraging her to lean forward and place her weight on him.

Inside the hospital, Rick sat by her side and waited until she was seen by a physician. When the emergency doctor finally attended to her, he confirmed Michonne's self-diagnosis as a minor, grade one sprain with slight stretching to her ligaments. He went on to remind her that it could take as much as fourteen days for all joint stiffness, and swelling to dissipate. Whilst her ankle got wrapped and she received a muscle relaxer, Rick filled out the paperwork, requested all bills to be sent to his company, and visited the pharmacist to have her prescription filled out.

Within an hour, the visit to the ER was over. They exited the facility with a bag full of meds and a new pair of crutches in tow.

Rick signaled Jerry to remain seated as he himself held the door open for Michonne. "Hungry?"

She paused from sliding into the car and turned to face him. "A little, yeah."

"Let me take you to _Pearl's Saltwater Grille_. Ever been?"

"No. Can't say that I have. But why? Already said I'd sign whatever papers you and your brothers want."

"I know. But this has nothing to do with that."

Michonne stared at him. "Then what does it have to do with?"

His Adam's apple bobbed as he retreated a couple steps. "Before, you were right with what you said. I don't know you and I had no cause to behave badly towards you. I just want to say I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted."

"Also, I haven't eaten _anything_ worth a damn for the day, you were right about that too. And since you were so concerned, maybe you should join me."

Michonne listened to him talk, amused by his so-called powers of persuasion. Amused, but not influenced. "I should get back. I need to get my car, plus I'm exhausted."

He nodded and helped her back into his vehicle. "Well then, let me fuel you up first," he insisted as soon as he slid inside next to her. "Then Jerry here can take you wherever it is you'really headed."

"Are you serious? Did you not hear what I just—"

"One hour Miss Andrews," he cut in, dismissive. "After that, you won't have to see me again."

Michonne glared at him in disbelief. Under different circumstances, she would've been able to put up a stronger resistance. As it stood though, she had just been sedated with strong medication, which meant Rick Grimes was in a position to take advantage of her fatigue. She leaned her head back and, once more, closed her eyes. Perfect.

 _What a Grimes wants, a Grimes gets._

Y###Y

After a fifteen minute drive, they stopped at a dockside eatery and were seated at a small table, next to large windows overlooking the water of a tidal inlet off the Georgia coast.

A quick survey of the menu and Michonne recognized that the selection could only be described as a seafood lover's paradise. Which she guessed applied to Rick. A regular patron, he looked content. So, needless to say, she gave him the go-ahead to order for them both; a Sesame crusted, wasabi tuna, paired with red wine for him, but a juice for her.

"Your nephew, what's his name? How old is he?" Rick inquired as soon as the waiter scuttled off.

Michonne picked up her glass and took a generous sip of water, biding time before giving a response. She knew this outing was a terrible idea. A bad, no-good, terrible idea. Somehow she'd end up putting her foot in her mouth.

Setting the glass down, she leaned back into her chair and fiddled with the cloth napkin in front of her. "My nephew? He's um... fifteen months old."

"And his name?"

Despite a headache she felt coming on, Michonne knew that if he kept this up, she would confess her whole story right then and there, in that diner. She didn't want to, not after the day she'd had, and certainly not before she could get an accurate picture of the type of man she was dealing with.

On the other hand, she also didn't want him to be apprehensive due to her being so tight-lipped.

"Carl. His name's Carl. He's my heartbeat," she said, deciding to indulge in a bit of motherly bragging, "He's extremely smart, and growing up so fast. Already he's trying to be his own man, you know. Keeps testing his limits, putting up a resistance to just about everything."

Rick chuckled. "But you're not having it, are you?"

"Oh hell no. He might be cute as a button, and my biases aside, he _is_ particularly handsome, but I'm not afraid to set his little behind straight," she beamed. Thoughts of her sweet baby filled her with heart-bursting pride.

"I don't doubt that. You definitely put me in my place earlier today."

Her whole body flushed and her smile faltered. "Look...about that, I...I was out of line. And unprofessional. Siddiq Ali, my boss, strives to maintain the highest of standards, you should know that. My reaction was not his—"

"His way?" Rick nodded.

Michonne smirked at his use of his own brother's trite, yet accurate, words. "Yeah. Please don't let my behavior reflect badly on him?"

He waved away her unease. "Don't worry about it. As far as I'm concerned you didn't do anything wrong."

By the time their food had arrived, Michonne was starving. Secretly, she was grateful he dragged her out for a meal. Rick, however, was more interested in interrogating her about her job, her co-workers, amongst other random things.

"Enough with all these questions," she sighed, after awhile, "I have one for you." Taking a bite of fish from her fork, it was time for her to flip the tables for a bit. "What happened today? I didn't see you at the party."

"You were looking for me?" His eyes twinkled.

 _Yes._

"No," She shook her head, glancing away. "Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Grimes. Why were you M.I.A.?"

He smiled sheepishly, and reached for his wine. "To be honest Miss Andrews, there were some people there, whom I preferred not having to deal with. If it were up to me, I would've skipped the whole damned thing. But my brother, Negan, he forced my hand. Took me on a guilt trip."

She nodded, understanding his feelings. Family had a way of pressuring you into undesirable circumstances, against your will. "You were pissed and you needed space. If I didn't get lost, wouldn't have disturbed you in your haven."

He shrugged. "Fate?"

"I don't believe in that, no. An accident."

"A happy one... perhaps?" he joked, scratching his thumb along his brow.

"Perhaps," she murmured, tilting her head for a moment to regard him. First with earnestness, followed by curiosity. She felt the seconds slipping by as she stared at him. Why?

It's the eyes, she admitted. He's got heartbreaker eyes. The kind that just bleeds with so much emotion.

Her mind started going down a certain road, and she realized her focus was glued to the arrogant slash of his jawline, which underscored his lovely shaped lips. She knew she shouldn't indulge in lingering glances so she lowered her gaze.

Now that she had spent some time with him, she was more or less calmer in Rick's presence. By the time they had cleaned their plates, however, that calmness got pitched right out of the window, when he, out-of-the-blue, started inquiring about Carl again.

"I hope you don't mind," he said, delicately, "but what happened to your nephew's parents?"

Michonne wiped her mouth with her napkin as she hesitated briefly. Although her pulse picked up she regained her poise. She sensed the importance of this moment, so she chose her words carefully. "His mother was my sister, but she died. As of now, I'm all he has left."

"Oh, I'm really sorry to hear that. It must've been hard losing a sibling."

"It was. Even though we weren't really close, not until the end."

"And his dad? He doesn't want him?"

She bit her bottom lip. "It was a brief fling. He probably doesn't remember her, especially as she never saw him again after the summer." It wasn't a lie, just not the entire truth. "In any case, Carl is going to be okay. I'm working on it."

He nodded. "Is there someone? Boyfriend?"

"Who said anything about a boyfriend?"

"I just assumed, because… well, why not?"

"Don't think you have the right to ask me about something so personal."

He frowned. "I didn't mean anything by it Michonne. Again, my apologies."

"Forget it," she said, and took hold of her crutches. "Listen, the food was great, but it's time I get home to my son."

"You mean your nephew."

"Yeah. Sure."

Immediately after the bill was paid, Rick escorted her back to his car. "Hey, think it's best if Jerry takes you straight home," he said after he'd bundled her in. Yet remained, hovering over her.

She looked up at him perplexed.

"Don't worry about me, I'll find my own way," he explained, "But if you give me your cell phone number and address, I can make the necessary arrangements to have your car delivered to you first thing tomorrow morning."

"What?"

He winked. "You heard me. I'll handle it." He closed in the door, and bent to the window. "Go on home now and be with your kid." He pulled out his phone and handed it to her. "Here, type in your contact information and I'll call you. Okay?"

Michonne's throat went dry, but she did as he instructed, although her brain felt scrambled. "Okay."

Jerry steered the vehicle out of the lot, and as they drove away she resisted the urge to look back and watch Rick fade in the distance. Her first meeting with him had been tainted by his aggressive nature. It still existed, proved by the way he maneuvered her here to the diner, but it was tempered by guilt and understanding. In spite of his glaring suspicion, he seemed to hold genuine concern about her wellbeing. The assistance he offered had been thoughtful. That, coupled with his solemn apology made Michonne wonder again at her resolve. Maybe, she judged him too quickly. Maybe she should reconsider.

Rick Grimes seemed to be a complicated man.


	4. The Upper Hand

**Chapter: 4**

 **The Upper Hand**

When Rick Grimes arrived bright and early the next Monday morning at their headquarters, he made a beeline towards Negan's office.

Walking through the glass doors, he discovered his brother hunched forward in the middle of his dark-colored suede couch watching the news on his iPad. Legs splayed, thighs straddling the round coffee table, at six foot two, Negan was once on the path of becoming a pro baseball player. The family's empire, however, took precedence. Not that he had any regrets. The perks held more appeal than slugging away for years in the minor leagues with only a ten percent chance of making it to the majors. For one thing, Negan's job afforded him what he craved the most—control.

"Your instinct was spot on," Negan said with enthusiasm. "Come over here and look at this."

The small hairs on the back of Rick's neck stiffened. "Not instinct, habit. We can't be too certain about anyone. You know that."

"Yeah, but sometimes the reminder of how fortunate we are to have you at the company satisfies me."

Rick shrugged his suit jacket off, placed it neatly on the arm of the couch, and sank into the seat beside his brother. An open file, with several pages and photos, were fanned out on the table's glass surface before him.

Next to the documents, Negan plucked up what Rick assumed to be a half-drunk mug of Jasmine green tea—his new wife's favorite—and sipped from it. Like him, Rick once considered making a proposition to a strange woman for a marriage of convenience, but that arrangement seemed too cold even for him. Be that as it may, as of late Sherry and Negan seemed unable to keep their hands off of each other. Especially during that recent birthday dinner. And Rick wondered, could the two actually be falling in love? Why would his brother take that risk?

Negan patted Rick's knee. "Good thing you took note of that Mocha skinned beauty Saturday. As per your request, Simon ran a full background check on her and her plates."

His heart picked up a beat. "And?"

"And you were right, Rick my boy. Her shit doesn't add up."

Rick nodded. Not at all surprised by Simon's confirmation of his suspicions. Still, he felt a slight thud of disappointment, followed by the beginnings of a throb at his temples.

Yes, he took note of the 'Mocha skinned beauty,' right from the moment he saw her standing in his den. With her staring at him perplexed, he drank in her brown eyes, rich and dark, like brushed hickory or smoked Balinese oak. And that voice. With every word she spoke her breathy tone, like a perfect whiskey, heated his insides leaving him intoxicated. Hell... the whole damn package, petite as she was, drew him in.

And it pissed him off. Even more, than he already was.

So instead of letting his attraction have sway over him, he fought against it by being a complete dick. Yeah, not his finest moment, but he'd like to think he was being...proactive, for a lack of a better word.

Afterward, when he'd realized she'd been hurt, he tried to be cavalier in his dealings with her. In his awkwardness, though, he still came across as if he were cross-examining her, which wasn't his intention at all, but ultimately it did lead him to pick up on her edginess. Her responses to his harmless questions—Questions pertaining to her family, and her kid—Rick knew. She was lying in some way. Hence, the need for security checks.

"Does the name Lori Andrews mean anything to you?" his brother asked.

"Lori Andrews? Maybe." Rick scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, I think I know that name."

"Oh, you know more than just her name Ricky." He handed Rick a photograph of a beautiful young woman with long dark hair, that was wild and untamed. A look of disappointment tugged the corners of her mouth, as she stared off into the unseen distance. "Remember the last time we were all at Nonnetto's vineyard in Matraia?"

"You mean that family reunion for his seventy-fifth birthday a couple years back?"

"Right you are bro. And _you_ stumbled in half-assed drunk, with this wide-eyed brunette on your arm. Charming I thought, frail, but charming."

Rick scrubbed his face. The memory was hazy. That whole summer vacation was hazy. His only mission on that trip was to have a good time.

"Yeah well, turns out your summer fling Lori Andrews is Michonne Andrews older sister. Or at least she was."

Rick narrowed his eyes in confusion. Negan placed another picture in his hands, this one was taken at a high school graduation.

"This is some years ago with her family. There's Miss Michonne in the cap and gown. Your ex on the left of the elderly man, and the youngest, Margaret Andrews, with her arms around her. All three girls were adopted as kids by this childless couple from a next to nothing town called Senoia. Unfortunately, about a year ago Lori died. That son-of-a-bitch cancer got to her. She survived by a 4-month-old son whom she gave full custody to her sister."

He leaned back staring at the dated photo in his hand. Something inside him wished he was wrong, that Michonne had not been lying to him. "It's not a coincidence, is it?"

"We both know it isn't." He handed Rick the full report. "Why would a small town woman find herself out in the big city of Savannah just like that? She didn't get married, didn't purchase a new place, hell she didn't come out here for better employment. It says right there she's the owner of some ratchety old gym. To top it all off, she's got no family out here. Absolutely none. And what, she makes a huge move like this with a little kid? It's all too questionable in my opinion. She wants something."

Rick did the numbers in his head. "So you think Lori had my child."

"I think she told a _cock and bull_ _story_ to her sister about it being your child. Hence her suddenly showing up." Negan got off the couch, strode over to his desk, and grabbed up the receiver to his phone. "But don't worry bro, I know exactly what to do to get rid of a woman like this. I've had my fair share of scheming skanks trying to get their hooks into me and our money with fake pregnancies, and false claims of paternity."

Rick gave his brother a look. Skanks he had no problem going to bed with.

 _Jerk_.

"Nah," he shook his head, "don't bother. I'll handle it." Michonne may have some agenda or whatnot, but that didn't mean she deserved to have Negan set behind her. "Besides, I have to at least see this boy, get him tested. Confront her face to face."

"Are you out of your goddamn mind? That woman, you're not going anywhere near her, ever again. _Capisci?_ Stay smart Ricky—"

"I said I can handle it! This could be my _kid_."

Negan shook his head and leaned his tall form back against his desk. Crossing his arms over his broad chest, he gave Rick a thoughtful look. "And what if he is? Huh? What the hell are you gonna do about it? She's not just going to hand him over like a free dessert plate. By the end of today, we'll have her financial records, and I guarantee you she's looking for a payout."

Rick nodded. Of course, he knew that. What else could it possibly be? But that didn't mean he would walk away either. Not if there's a small chance he'd fathered a son. Having made his decision, Rick stood up and grabbed his jacket. "If he's mine...then I'll just take him."

* * *

"Dude, you sure about this?"

Rick jumped out of his car and glanced up and down the street. The surroundings were clean; no shady characters were in sight; the identical houses lined off perfectly. "Yeah, I'm sure," he said. "Stay here and I'll go in, do this by myself."

By midday, when his secretary had informed him that his afternoon meetings had been rescheduled, on a whim, Rick decided to take the forty-five-minute drive over to Michonne's apartment in Bradley Pointe to confront her.

Jerry shook his head. "Okay boss man, but holla if things look sketchy."

Rick cocked his head to the side with a look of amusement. "Sketchy how Jerry? She's barely five foot -five."

"And she could be packing some heat, you know what I'm saying? Don't take much to pull a trigger, man. Especially if you plan on going in there to piss her off. And that is the plan, isn't it?" Jerry asked, with a smug smile. "To piss her the hell off?"

Rick paused to give some thought to his bodyguard's advice. "Alright," he nodded, because yeah, that was the plan. "You could come out of the car, keep me covered. But stay here, outside."

"That's what I'm talking about." The barrel-chested man sprinted out onto the sidewalk and removed his sunglasses. "Just let me do my job."

"Shouldn't take longer than a few minutes," Rick promised.

After Jerry confirmed which apartment was Michonne's, Rick walked past a few buildings then up the pathway leading to her door. Focused on the task at hand, he determined to keep his hostility under control. If he could treat this situation as a regular business negotiation, he should be able to maintain the upper hand. Gritting his jaw, Rick steeled his heart and pressed the bell.

She didn't answer.

Not right away, but he heard when her footsteps approached the other side of the threshold. His heart sped up and he clenched his fists when slowly she pulled the door open.

"Rick...I mean Mr. Grimes, w-what are you doing here?" She stared at him incredulously.

He didn't mean for his gaze to travel the length of her, but apparently, it did, because she snatched the top of her plaid shirt which fell slightly open. Too late, he thought, glancing left. The curve of a smooth patch of chocolate skin left an image now forever embedded in his brain.

He cleared his throat. "Is there anything else I should know about?"

"Is there a reason why you've shown up at my home uninvited?"

He pushed past her into the tiny apartment. "I came to see the baby."

He glanced back as she remained frozen by the gaping entrance. It's clear she didn't expect those words to come out of his mouth.

"You know, don't you?" Michonne said softly.

"That you were gonna claim that he's mine? Yeah, wasn't hard to figure out after a simple background check."

"Wait. You did what?" Creases appeared on her forehead and she finally shut the door.

He glared at her, not liking the innocent act of hers, it was causing him to already lose his patience. Here she was, turning his fucking world upside down and she had the audacity to play innocent? "Cut the crap Michonne! That's why you showed up at the mansion, isn't it?"

She returned his glare in silence.

"Isn't it?" he muttered. "Yes, or no!"

She jumped and her gaze darted behind him. "Yes."

"The whole time, you were lying right to my face."

"No. I…" she stammered, eyebrows knitting together, lips puckered in a bow. "I'm not a liar."

He dipped his head to level his eyes with hers now, leaning forward as she pressed her back against the wall. Her jeans shorts cut at the apex of her thighs, displaying her bare legs and feet which were now adorned with pink polish on her toes. What's more, her brace was off. After only one damn day. Hmph, stubborn woman.

Not that he cared, either way.

"I have something to show you," she said and hobbled around him. "Just wait."

He stomped after her, watching wordlessly as she limped straight through the kitchen into the living area, where she approached a wooden cabinet and opened it. She stretched behind the top shelf, withdrew a folded envelope, and handed it to him.

"Read it," she commanded, but with a quiet seriousness. "Lori wrote this explaining everything. Why she chose not to tell you about her being pregnant. And why she didn't want your name on Carl's birth certificate."

Rick looked at the envelope with disdain. "How about we just cut to the chase. This sister of yours, whom you said you weren't close to, says that I'm her child's father, but then decided that you should raise him instead of his own flesh and blood? And you simply believed her?"

Michonne nodded. "Lori trusted me to do what she couldn't—to do what's best for Carl. That's why I'm here. For you to be in his life. I'm asking you to trust me too…"

He scoffed, turning his back to her. There had to be more to this story.

"Listen to me," she begged, "Every decision I've made so far has been in the best interest of Carl. He _is_ your son."

Rick swallowed the lump in his throat. How could she be so sure?

"Lori," she sighed, "Knew for a long time that she was sick. Way before you two met. Actually, that's why she was there in Italy in the first place. She was trying to forget, that her days were numbered."

Rick frowned. He had met Lori at a museum. He couldn't recall every detail, but he immediately was taken in by her awe, and the emotional connection she had with the art on display. Her appreciation and hunger for beauty were inspiring.

"Weeks after she came back from Europe," Michonne said, "Lori showed up one day on my doorstep; pregnant, riddled with cancer, and desperate. She'd been careless...with you." She cleared her throat. "I don't mean to malign my sister but, she'd always been careless. Our adopted parents thought she'd grow out of it. And I guess, eventually she did. When she moved back home, asking me for help."

"I guess I'll have to take your word for it," he muttered.

"Yeah, I guess you do," she whispered followed by a groan.

When he glanced back she'd perched herself at the edge of the coffee table. Her injured leg stretched out. Rick scanned the living room for the brace, but he didn't find it.

"Her and I," she said, closing her eyes, "we weren't close. That is true. But hell, everything changed when Carl came into our world."

A thump, followed by a swishing sound, caught their attention and he spun around.

A little boy in a vest and diaper came waddling out of a room to the living area. Rick stared in amazement. Michonne was right with what she said at the diner—Carl was beautiful. Pink, chubby cheeks; bright, clear eyes; wispy, dark hair. From his distance, Rick couldn't tell if they looked alike, regardless, he was spellbound watching him.

"Hey, sweet cheeks," Michonne stood and called to the toddler, "You climbed out of your playpen again? Mimmo. _Cosa faro con tè?_ What am I gonna do with you?"

"Hi, Mamma." His stubby arms stretched upwards, desperate to be scooped up and cuddled, and she obliged with the widest of smiles.

"Rick," she said, "Meet Carl Benjamin Andrews. Carl sweetie, say hello to...to Mommy's friend." She extended his tiny hand and Rick let him grasp the tips of his fingers. Wow. His grip was strong. Naturally. And his skin was so soft. As Rick moved closer he got a strong whiff of that sweet, baby smell.

"Hi," Rick choked, suddenly hit by a truck of emotion.

"Hiii," Carl cooed, mollifying both seething adults and they smiled. He then started squirming in Michonne's arms rubbing his eyes out.

"Okay, okay little man," she bounced him on her hip and patted his back to soothe him, "You really need to stop fighting me with these naps. I'm not playing no more. Come on. _Vieni tesoro._ Let's try this again."

As Michonne excused herself, Rick slumped down into her couch, dumbfounded. First off, Michonne knew a lot more Italian than she admitted, and now to him, it was obvious why.

Second, and more importantly, it was one thing to think or imagine having a kid, but a whole other experience seeing him in person. Touching him. Smelling him. Inside, Rick felt a pull. This child could possibly be his. But, from what he remembered, Lori had been somewhat of a free-spirit, so who knows where she'd been, and who she'd been with after their time together ended.

So why was he feeling this way? There was no rational explanation but some would call it instinct; others, wishful thinking. Either way, in his gut, Rick knew without a doubt, that this child belonged to him. His knees began to shake to the quiet revelation, and he grabbed hold of his legs to steady them.

 _I have a son!_

 ** _A/N: CHAPTER 5 should be up this weekend. Hope you all enjoyed._**


	5. Everything Changes

**Chapter 5:**

 **Everything Changes**

"To be on the safe side, I think it's best if he comes with me now."

Rick blurted out the decisive words the instant Michonne reappeared from Carl's room.

Her immediate reaction to his hastiness, however, was not what he'd expected. Rather than shoot down the premature proposal, or dive into a debate about how he was being irrational, Michonne simply stood there her head tilted, staring at him with a knowing look. _'You want to try that again?'_ her eyes seemed to say.

But no, he didn't. Rick may have been a hasty man, but he was also usually right.

"The tests," she said with a calmness, "Lori's will; don't you want to go through those first, before making any decisions?"

"I do," He eyed the toddler's room, where she'd laid him to sleep, feeling drawn to him, "But, Carl staying with me, I think...I think that's what's best. At least until we get it all sorted out."

"Just like that? You're a stranger to him."

"I'm sorry, but yes."

"I'm sorry, but no." Michonne shook her head. "That's not how this is happening."

He moved nearer to her. "It is, Michonne. Feel free to pack your things as well."

A rush of panic flashed in her eyes. "Wait! Just...wait. Why do I have to be the one to make all of the sacrifices? I've done enough. What are _you_ willing to give up to be in your son's life?"

"Shouldn't have to, because he's mine," Rick ground out.

Pausing to take a deep breath in, it was clear she was trying like hell to restrain herself. "You may share DNA," she said quietly, "but that doesn't make him yours like any other of your possessions."

"Yeah well, the law says differently."

Her face went rigid, and for several seconds she did not move. Neither did he, and it was enough to cause an unspoken shift in their relationship.

Rick could tell she was examining him again like she did when they'd first met. Her dark gaze taking in everything about him. To his surprise, he felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny. Who the hell did she think she was? _He_ had rights.

Finally, she broke the arresting silence. "So, you wanna take me to court?" She angled her chin higher in defiance. " _I_ was there from the second he was born. I know what's his favorite song to sleep at night. I taught him how to walk, how to hold his cup…"

"And I should've been the one to do all that!" he responded to her tirade, sticking his finger in his chest. "Me, not you! I'm his father. But that right was taken away from me."

"Take a good look in the mirror _Rick_ , and ask yourself why. Why would Lori do that?" She pointed to the envelope still clutched in his palm. "Read the bloody letter."

"Don't! Don't put this on me. _You_ somehow convinced her to keep my child away from me."

"Oh for fuck sakes," she lamented with impatience, "That makes absolutely no sense! Why am I even here, now?"

"Why else? You've got some personal agenda." He raked his fingers through his hair and retreated to the window. "You're all the same."

"What does that mean," she muttered from behind him, "'all the same'? All who? All women? All black people?"

He chuckled derisively. "Oh, so now I'm a racist? Great. Just great. You think the worst of me, don't you?"

"And you think the worst of me, but you're wrong."

"Am I?" He pivoted to face her again, and she snatched the envelope from his hand, tearing it open.

"My sister, she was a lot of things I admit, but she was not malicious. Shows how much you were paying attention while you were screwing her six ways til Sunday." She pulled out the letter and read from it.

"' _Eight weeks I spent with you, Rick. Day in and day out, and not once did I ever learn anything much about you. Nothing that mattered anyway. And not for a lack of me trying to get you to speak about whether or not you played sports in high school. Or who was your idol growing up. Or even what your father was like before he died. Were you two close? What we shared Rick, was in the moment, always knew that. Still, I told you about my mistakes, and about my dreams. But from you, I got nothing.'_ "

Michonne then stopped, refolded the pages, and handed them back to him.

"That's just part of it," she murmured, "I'm not trying to be hurtful, just clear. Lori had doubts about trusting you. Whether or not you were the type of man who could raise her son."

 _Trusting me?_

Rick shook his head in disbelief. This bullshit was impossible. How could Lori's opinion invalidate his ability to be a good father?

"Me, personally," Michonne sighed, "I took a chance coming here. To tell you the truth. But maybe I was wrong, and Lori was right."

He stared at her as she worried her bottom lip and fiddled with her hands when suddenly, she turned and strode towards the door. Rick, taking the hint, followed. Although she was angry, she moved gracefully. Straight and with purpose. If circumstances were different, he thought. If _he_ were different.

"You don't know me," he said softly, as he stepped closer to her.

"And you don't know me." The confidence in her voice was betrayed by the slight tremble in her hand as she took hold of the handle. "From your perspective, I'm a scheming liar. But if you want to threaten me with the law again, bring it. I will not be giving you my son without a fight. Are we clear? I don't give a shit how powerful you are. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am exhausted. So please, get the hell out."

Just as she was about to yank the door open, someone banged on it from the other side, startling them both. By the second forceful knock, it took a beat for Rick to figure out who the culprit was.

 _Jerry_.

Michonne opened up and confirmed his assumption. The scene on her front step was curious as well as comical. Jerry stood there, hulking behind a wispy, blonde man with the longest lashes Rick had ever seen on a guy, not to mention he wore a ridiculously overgrown beard.

 _Who does this guy think he is? Jesus?_

"Oh my god," Michonne gasped. "What's going on here?"

"Yeah Jerry," Rick said, just as baffled, "What's going on?"

Jerry's beefy hand tightened the Kung-fu grip he had on the back of the unknown man's neck. "Saw this punk circling the block a few times, Boss. All sneaky and ninja-like. Something about him raised my suspicions."

"He's not a punk," Michonne argued.

"That's right, my name is Paul," the man explained, "I told you I couldn't find a park. I live here in this neighborhood."

Jerry jerked him back and 'Paul' winced, shutting his mouth.

"Anyway," Jerry continued, "Next thing I know, he pulls out a key, and comes straight to this place. And we all know Miss Andrews lives alone."

Michonne narrowed her eyes in his direction. "Rick, why is your driver manhandling my guest?"

Rick shrugged, "Jerry's my bodyguard."

"Bodyguard?" Michonne and Paul said in unison.

"Wait, so you know this little dude?" Jerry asked her.

"I do," she said, "Let him go."

Jerry hesitated, looking to Rick for consent.

But Michonne shot daggers at them both. "Now!"

The burly man caved in and released her friend. "Yes Ma'am."

"Michonne, who are these people?" Paul asked, rubbing his reddened neck as he stumbled past Rick. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No!" Michonne said.

"Yes," Rick countered, at the same time.

A puzzled frown creased Paul's brow and his gaze bounced back and forth between them. "O-kay."

Michonne leaned closer and held Paul's arm. "Listen, don't worry about it okay? They were just leaving."

Rick bristled. Like hell he was. "Why are you here? Why do have a key?"

"Don't answer that," Michonne said.

"Wasn't about to," Paul replied and Rick looked him over.

This man visiting Michonne was as petite as she was. Quite frankly, Rick was unimpressed. What in the world did she see in this guy? With those wide eyes, and flat-ironed hair? Seriously? Rick would've pegged Michonne as being into a man more strapping, more...intimidating.

Okay, right off the bat he knew that was a jackass thing to think. But still, he couldn't help but observe this man with curiosity as he cruised further into _her_ apartment.

Placing the grocery bags in his hands on top of the kitchen counter Paul said, "Look um, I'll give you a minute. Let me go wash up." Then he disappeared down the short hallway into what must've been the bathroom.

Michonne returned her attention to Rick. "Listen, my apartment is too small for all this testosterone. So, please leave?"

Rick glanced down to where her warm hand clutched his wrist as she tugged him outside. "Thought you said no boyfriend. You wanna tell me who the hell that guy is?"

"Really?" She shot him a fed-up expression. "Come back when you're ready to do a paternity test," she said, "Then we'll talk some more. But for now, this is goodbye."

She stepped back, grabbed the door, and swung it shut in his and Jerry's faces. Rick's blood boiled at the dismissal. Before the day's end, he had every intention of returning to finish what he'd started.

¥###¥

Forty-eight hours. That's how long it would take before he could get any conclusive results from Carl's DNA tests. Until then, Rick wouldn't be able to turn his brain off, wouldn't be able to sleep because in his heart he'd already claimed the boy as his own.

Before the tumultuous day came to a dizzying end, Rick made it his business to make the trip back to Michonne's apartment. This time, he'd dragged the family's physician along with a DNA kit in tow. After the quick procedure, he found he couldn't bring himself to drive all the way back to Tybee Island only to step into his empty condo. Instead, he made his way to the estate. But, that proved to be a mistake because now he'd been cornered in his den, being grilled by his mother.

"And this woman? You're going to give her what she wants, yes?" She tugged down the hem of her skirt as she sat with her legs crossed on the arm of the couch. "I don't have to tell you how unseemly it would be to have your family go through a messy, public custody battle."

No, she didn't, he thought, slouching into the cushions and staring up at her.

"She came here for you to be in Carl's life?" his mother asked for clarification.

He shrugged. "That's what she says."

"In exchange for what?"

Rick leaned forward with his fingers pressed to his temples and stood up. "Not sure. But she must have a price." Deciding that he needed the aid of the contents from his uncracked bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey, to quell the countless thoughts ricocheting through his mind. He waltzed towards his mini-bar, untwisted the cap and seal, and poured two glasses.

His mother accepted his drink offer and said, "Find out. In the meantime, make nice."

Rick scrunched his brows. "How?"

It was her turn to shrug. "Prove her wrong. Do what must be done. I don't know, just bring me my grandbaby. She's one little woman, it can't be that hard." She moved to her feet and wandered around the room in deep thought. "Rick," she said after a while, "I'm getting old. And you boys have me living in a big empty house."

"We've been busy Mamma, keeping you in this house."

"I know, and I am so thankful, for you and your brothers following in your father's footsteps. You each could've chosen different paths," she sighed, "instead you sacrificed much and I love you all for that. But Rick, _caro mio,_ my dear, it's time. Who are these sacrifices for if not for the next generation? I know this isn't how you'd planned it, but so what? That's life. If he's yours, get your son under this roof. We could use some _vivacità_ , some liveliness inside these old walls." She gestured from one end of the room to the next. Stepping nearer to Rick, she placed a gentle palm against his cheek. "It is true," she said, "You can't trust everyone. But, you can't _not_ trust anyone either. _Sì?_ "

He kissed the dear heart woman on her forehead. "Yes, _Sì Mamma_."

¥###¥

* * *

"There's a ninety-nine percent chance that the baby, Carl Andrews, is your biological child. Congratulations, Mr. Grimes."

A flush of adrenaline tingled through Rick's body. Doctor Carson's words wiped away his ability to think and to speak. Squeezing his eyes shut, even though this is what Rick wanted, the moment seemed unreal.

He felt Michonne tensed beside him. But then she breathed a sigh of relief and whispered, "Thank you."

Confirmation probably gave her a peace of mind. Concrete evidence as to Carl's paternity that could never be contested again.

Now, to move forward.

"You wanna hold him?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, breathless, and he took the toddler into his arms. Rick brushed Carl's soft hair aside, a facet of emotions abounded within him—excitement, joy, then shock, and fear. Was he ready to be a father? Yes. Did he have a damned clue about how to be a good one? A lump formed in his throat due to him being uncertain, he looked at the teddy bear he'd bought cradled in his hands. Soon enough, Rick resolved, he'd find out.

"I played offense as a wide receiver," Rick confessed as he walked with Michonne towards the elevator bank at the end of the hallway. "From sophomore to senior year in high school." Her brows dipped and he continued, "Also I had never been in-love till I was twenty-three, but that didn't end well obviously. And my father had a zest for life which ultimately caused his premature death."

She nodded, a little taken aback by his candor but also pleased.

However, the small smile she gifted him, quickly disappeared with his next few words.

"Move in with me."

"I…" she glanced away and pressed the down button summoning the elevator. "I'm not comfortable with that."

"Not at my place. At the mansion. With the rest of my family. We have a full staff who would be at your disposal. Extra rooms for both you and a nursery..."

"You still don't trust me," she said, as a matter-of-fact.

Rick couldn't deny it. "I need time. We both do."

Michonne held his gaze. "But if I do this, you will?"

"Of course. It'll be natural."

She smirked. "I don't see how. You only want control. You and your brother Negan are a lot alike."

"Perhaps," he replied, impressed by how perceptive she was to make such a bold statement. "But this... this is more than that. What I also want is to keep Carl safe. There are people Michonne, who may try something if they found out who he is."

She gave him an incredulous look.

"I can't take any chances." He wasn't going to admit this, but the need to keep an eye on her was a priority as well. "But I promise it won't be forever. Just until we get things sorted out. For starters, his name is gonna change to Grimes, because that's who he is." Carl reached for her and Rick gave him over with reluctance.

"And?"

"And I'm going to petition for shared custody." He heard her sharp intake of air, but she bit her lip rather than say anything. The elevator doors dinged open and she stepped in with him following behind her.

Once they walked out on the ground floor, she stuck her hand into her purse and pulled out a business card. Handing it to him. _Williams Law Firm LLC; Sasha Williams._ Up until then she hadn't mentioned seeking representation. But why would he expect her to?

"Will you honor an agreement not to take him from me?" she asked softly.

Rick shifted with discomfort. "You're the only mother he knows."

Her eyes glossed over and she nodded. "Okay. We'll be ready to go first thing in the morning."

His arms folded across his chest. His world had just been turned upside down by this woman within a matter of days. It was a struggle to keep his emotions in check, to keep his thoughts straight.

But standing there in front of her, as she avoided his gaze, visibly agonizing over her next decision, he kept doubting himself. He took a step back. Forced himself to focus on the facts. He was a father now. Which meant it was his duty to do all within his power to keep Carl safe. And whether or not Michonne was being truthful about her full intentions he'd never know until it was too late. It may cost him dearly to allow her to blindside him a second time.

"Let's go pack your things," he said, not wanting to second-guess his decision, "You're coming with me tonight."


	6. Choppy Waters

**Chapter 6:**

 **Choppy Waters**

The next evening Michonne sat in the private bathroom, in front of the vanity mirror, tying her red scarf into her hair. After making a second knot and slightly twisting the scarf allowing the remainder of the fabric to flow over one shoulder, she got up, applied some lip gloss, and traipsed back into the massive bedroom. She'd never before slept in such a luxuriously extravagant space. The accommodations looked closer to a royal suite. With its tall ceilings, stunning chandelier, and sensually soft carpet under her bare feet, Michonne thought the room was the epitome of sophistication. The decor ranged in shades of purple. From the lighter tones of lavender and mauve for the bedspread and the walls to the deeper hues of mulberry and wine used as accents around the room.

Even the personal bathroom was breathtaking. Fresh white tulips against teal colored tiles. A shower _and_ a jacuzzi at her disposal? A girl could get used to this...if she wanted to. But no, this setup was temporary, Michonne would never forget that.

"What do you think, buddy?" She walked over and did a twirl in front of Carl who sat contented in his crib, clutching Roger his stuffed toy rabbit. He looked up, drool on his cheeks, and babbled his approval at her appearance. She smiled, did a curtsy of thanks and said, "Mamma thinks you look pretty handsome yourself sweetie. As always."

Michonne spun around when suddenly, someone knocked on the door. She opened up, coming face to face with Rick. It was the first time she'd seen him since he had hastily moved them there to the mansion twenty-four hours ago.

There he stood looking too handsome in his starched white shirt and silk red tie and smelling too damn scrumptious. Immediately she took a step back. Needed to. Not wanting to be too obvious in her perusal of him.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey. You ready?" he asked cautiously.

"Just." She turned and limped across to the walk-in closet, where she slipped on a pair of black slingbacks.

Rick entered her room and scooped Carl out of his crib.

She'd skipped breakfast with the family, took lunch with Carl alone out in the garden, but she couldn't avoid dinner. Last night Michonne was unsettled. Despite the heavenly mattress, paired with satin sheets that caressed her skin, she'd had a difficult time falling asleep. In the middle of the night, she found herself wide awake sitting on the ottoman, her thoughts running rampant.

What was she doing here? Was this the right decision? Submitting to Rick, surrendering a measure of her independence?

In any case, she had the day to calibrate herself. She felt prepared to formally face the Romano-Grimes clan. The acceptance of Carl by Rick's family when they'd arrived seemed genuine, and thankfully, little man wasn't put off by all the doting attention. As a matter of fact, he reveled in it and it satisfied her. She felt vindicated. In trusting Lori. In sacrificing the life she'd had, to come to Savannah. In letting Rick Grimes know about his son's existence. Albeit not the way she'd planned but still, she wanted things to work out for the best. For her son's sake, she chose to be optimistic. She had to be. Because now, there was no turning back.

A final check in the full-length mirror and she felt comfortable with her chosen outfit. Seconds later she followed Rick out into the hallway.

"No crutches?" he inquired, as she closed her door.

"No," she said, "It's better." Thanks to Siddiq's undeserved kindness, she could return to work by next Monday. However, she'd still need to be extra careful, especially with Carl.

Slow and steady they approached the grand staircase. Before descending, Rick wrapped his arm around her waist tugging her to his side. "I'll help you."

"Please don't." She brushed him off and reached for the banister. Being so close to him was the last thing she needed right then, even if he simply wanted to assist her maneuver on the sore ankle. "But thank you," she amended when she saw faint embarrassment on his face. "Go ahead with Carl. I'll be down in a minute."

He nodded, complying without argument.

When at last she'd conquered the never-ending stairway, to her pleasant surprise a golden ball of fur ran towards her, sniffing at her feet. Taking it easy she bent down, and with discretion offered the little hound her hand. "Hey, gorgeous. Nice to meet you."

The short-legged creature swiped it's cold nose across her fingers, followed by the flicker of a pink tongue. Well at least she'd made one friend, she thought. With her other hand, she lifted the name band on his collar.

 _Rufus._

Tilting her head she decided that yeah, the name suited him well. Cute, but rascally. "Hey, boy. If only the rest of your family was this easy, huh." She tickled his belly and his whole body wiggled as he swished his fluffy tail, back and forth. Michonne laughed. And somehow felt comforted. Carl was going to love him.

After a quick detour to one of the guest bathrooms, she found one of the maids who directed her towards the dining area. Amid the prattling of the Romano-Grimes brood was a large spread of mouth-watering dishes. Michonne's gaze swept over the assortment of meats and sausages in tomato sauce displayed on the largest platter resting at the center of the table. Next to it were one or two smaller dishes, as well as a steaming pot of what appeared to be ravioli soup, and on the far end, a huge ceramic bowl contained a fresh salad the vegetables of which she suspected was from their bountiful garden outside.

"Good evening," she greeted, using a considerate tone as much as was possible. "Sorry for my delay. I hope dinner isn't off to a late start."

The room grew quiet, all eyes turned to her, and time seemed to slow down. Michonne held her breath determined not to allow these people to see her as anything but respectful and courteous.

"Good evening my dear," Mrs. Romano-Grimes responded graciously, from her position at the head of the table, "We were just getting settled."

"Here." Rick stood up and pulled out the chair to his right. Michonne took her seat next to Carl in his high-chair in-between them.

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" Shane commented, sitting opposite from her. " _Bellissimo_."

She glanced down at the simple red and white printed halter dress she chose for the evening. Not too fitting with an empire-line waist and flared style. Modesty marked by a mid-length cut. Nothing fancy, but still she was glad about the choice over jeans and a sweater. Like Rick, the remaining Grimes men still donned their work attire, but more importantly, Sherry and Veronica were smartly dressed in simple yet elegant outfits for the evening.

"Thank you," Michonne said simply, preferring not to indulge in any eye contact with Shane. Instead, she focused on her son and the pieces of melon Rick probably gave to him.

"He's so well-behaved." The matriarch said, with a bright smile, her eyes beaming at Carl.

"Yes well, put food in front of him and he's the perfect gentleman." Michonne appreciated the woman's warmth towards her grandson. Veronica, as she insisted on being called, was practically beside herself the night before when Carl had arrived. At a certain point, Rick had to drive his mother out of Michonne's room to allow them both to get some rest.

As a cook and a maid moved about serving the family, Michonne helped herself to the Eggplant parmesan, dishing out a smaller portion for Carl with chunks of carrot.

Rick's eyes were on her every movement. "So how was it?" he asked, after a while. "Last night, did you sleep well?"

Michonne twisted the corner of her mouth. "I um, I tried."

"That's how it is in a new place," Sherry said, sympathizing, clearly tuned in from across the table. To her right, her husband blatantly glared in her direction. Nonetheless, she twirled her pasta as though Negan weren't even there.

Rick shifted in his seat. "If the room's not comfortable, or you need anything else from your apartment, just say the word."

She waved him off. "The room is perfect. Don't worry about it."

He nodded, then pointed to Carl's plate. "Is this food okay for him?"

"Yeah, just I usually keep it simple, not too much grease. Like green peas, and turkey. We don't eat red meat."

Rick chuckled whilst looking at her in astonishment. "You can't raise an Italian who doesn't eat red meat."

"I can and I will." Michonne tried her best to appear affronted, but at the same time, a huge grin forced its way across her lips.

"Rick," Negan called to his brother. "Back out to California to meet with the Governor tomorrow. Didn't think I needed to head out there again so soon, but it seems our arrangement on the land deal has run into some problems. I need you with me."

Rick brushed a piece of carrot off of Carl's cheek. "I bet he'd love a taste of pepperoni," he teased.

Michonne stared at him, unsure if he was ignoring Negan on purpose. But when she glanced across, his older brother's face turned to steel.

"Rick. I said I need you," Negan insisted.

"I don't think you do," Rick murmured. "But if it means that much to you, a video conference should suffice. We've done it before." He lifted his attention to Michonne. "Does he have any allergies?"

"You mean like you?" Michonne pointed her fork at him and smiled, recalling the cupcake incident when they'd first met. "No. But he has always been very demanding, and now I can see why."

Rick's face reddened. "I guess I deserve that."

"Don't act like that's news. What a Grimes wants, a Grimes gets."

"Yeah, but we're not so bad are we?"

Michonne leaned close and kissed Carl on his forehead. "No, you're not."

Negan grumbled. "Don't get caught up there Ricky. Not all that glitters is gold."

Michonne met Negan's harsh gaze and flashed a fake smile. "I could say the same thing about you." His open hostility towards her struck a nerve. If he thought she would sit there and swallow his insults, he had another thing coming.

Before Negan had a chance to spit out a retort, his mother intercepted, making casual mention about her charity committee needing a new co-chair as her last one had gotten terribly sick. "Tomorrow I'll spend the morning doing interviews," she explained, "but when I'm done with that, Michonne, perhaps you and I could start on designing a nursery together."

Michonne nodded in appreciation. "Sure, if you'd like."

"Oh, _mia cara,_ I would. Very much. And maybe we could include a painting or two from Achille Lauge. He's my favorite."

"The French Neo-impressionist? Yes, I noticed his work in the living room. His pointillist technique is remarkable."

Shane paused from stuffing his face and cocked his brow in surprise. "Well, I'll be damned. She speaks Italian and is an expert on French paintings? Aren't you full of surprises?" He winked at her as though she should be flattered by his condescension. What did these people think? That she was some ignorant, gold-digging schemer who crawled out of a hole? Hmph, probably.

Rick leveled a glowering look at his younger brother. "Cool it."

"Yeah," Negan said. "Don't give her any ideas. Think we can all agree that she's a cunning one."

Oh, for heaven's sake. Michonne threw her napkin onto the table. "Why don't you shut it. You don't know me."

"Actually," Negan wiped his mouth, leaning back into his chair with an air of smugness that turned Michonne's stomach. "I know more than you think I do…Miss Andrews. And you strutting in here, into Rick's life, affects this whole family, you bet your sweet ass it does."

"Rick is an adult," Michonne muttered, "fully capable of making his own assessment. You have made it quite plain that you think I'm some sort of imposter whose aim is to trick and humiliate your brother, I get it. So just back off already."

Negan tilted to the side and laughed. "You've got spunk in you, don't you darling? A glaring contrast to the innocent wide-eyed act you're putting on for my family here. But let me tell you something, I see straight through you. You got some beach ball sized lady-nuts talking to me like that. "

"Enough!" Unstrapping Carl from his seat, Rick pushed back his chair and stood up. "Dimitri," he called to one of the servers, "Take these plates to the smaller dining room."

Michonne got up, following his lead. More than relieved to depart from the table. The truth was Negan intimidated her.

"Rick, sit down!" Negan ordered, "No decision you make or have ever made, is just your own."

"Is that right?" Rick huddled Carl into his arms, "Well, today is a new day."

"Oh, _per l'amor di Cristo!"_ their mother cried. "What's the matter with you two? Rick, what Negan is attempting, but failing to say, my dear is that as family, we are all on the same journey. We are here to support you."

"I know Mamma and I'm sorry," Rick said, "I'm trying to make the best of the situation but I can't have my son exposed to this negativity. I have my own place, if need be, we'll move."

"No," Shane scraped back his own chair and stood as well. "That's not what he meant. This place, this house, is ours. You have every right to be here. What good can come from running off, huh?"

"I just want peace," Rick sighed.

"And you'll have it." Shane leaned forward on the table and blazed his attention towards Negan. "Ain't that right?"

"Right," Negan drawled, sarcasm threaded in his voice. "Do whatever you want, brother. Don't come crying to me after."

Rick swung around and marched out. Carl picked up on the distress, fussing and crying to get to her for comfort.

"Let me have him," Michonne said, wanting the comfort too. It soothed her, having him near—the warm little body of the only person to whom she didn't have to prove herself.

"I feel bad about that," Rick said, "I'm sorry. My intentions were not for that to happen."

She nodded, but Michonne couldn't pretend to be overly shocked about his brother's outburst. And quite frankly, she wondered about Rick's sincerity. He must've known, expected even, that him bringing home a strange woman, without much warning mind you, would cause an upset and elicit a negative response from at least one member of his very private family.

Rick led the way to the smaller dining area and Carl quieted down sticking his fist into his mouth. The moment they'd arrived, hands down the room became Michonne's favorite in an instant. Delectable and traditional with white hydrangeas as a centerpiece on a round cherry wood table. The four matching wooden chairs were upholstered in classical white velvet. And on the wall, between the two French windows that looked out across the lit landscape, hung a large oil painting of the Grand Canal in Venice at sunset. Beautiful. There was only one family Michonne knew who lived in similar opulence, though not on this scale. Her adoptive father's sister; a politician whose husband's career as a successful architect afforded them an indulgent lifestyle. Michonne only visited a handful of times but their charming home always left her with a comfy, welcoming feeling.

Within minutes, settings were made for them along with a fresh bottle of wine, and Dimitri brought the baby's high chair positioning it again between the two adults. As Rick quietly finished his meal, Michonne on the other hand, shuffled her food around her plate. Her appetite all but gone. Her mind fretful, disquieted. Would it be like this for the next eighteen years? Him having to choose between her and his family for the sake of peace? What would happen when he gets married, has more kids of his own? What would his future wife think about their unconventional situation?

Sighing, Michonne pushed her plate away, instead focusing solely on mashing Carl's vegetables and feeding it to him. Her performance of _'Here comes the airplane'_ made him laugh whilst he devoured his food.

Rick observed them both. "You're very good with him."

She shrugged. "Toddlers find me funny."

His brows dipped, curious at her general assessment.

"Back home," she explained, holding up the back of the spoon for Carl to lick, "most of my friends had me on speed dial whenever they were in need of a babysitter."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah, so…"

"So you know a thing or two," Rick brushed his finger along his son's chin. "His mouth is so small."

"Here," Michonne passed the utensil to Rick, detecting his obvious interest. "Give it a try."

Carl's grubby hands shot straight out to grab the food, eyes lasered focus on the spoon, his mouth open and waiting.

Michonne giggled and pulled back on Rick's wrist. "No, don't let him get it. He'll make a mess of himself."

"That's alright, he can have at it."

"No it's not Rick," she said, lowering the baby's arms, "You're the adult, you maintain control."

He nodded, attentive to Carl's every little move. Delight and wonder sparkling in his eyes. Again, this man was such a contradiction. One minute he's a rebellious force in a full-blown standoff with his family, the next he's putty in his baby's hands. With awkward movements he tried to dodge the toddler's attempts to snatch the spoon, failing half the time. She grinned at the two doing battle.

Softening her voice, Michonne said, "I know you probably share the same concerns as your brother, but need I remind you I didn't manipulate my way into your family. You forced me here. And I relented because of this. Carl deserves _this_. You're so eager to love him."

Rick caught her eye. "Family's important. But I don't have to tell you that."

No, he didn't. Michonne's heart sank, remembering the loss of her own.

Carl released a cry of frustration at being ignored and both Rick and Michonne laughed.

"And will you look at that," Rick said in awe, "He's a fighter. Like you."

Michonne straightened her spine and glanced away, not letting him visibly affect her. It's not a mere observation he's made, but a compliment. One that, for some strange reason, leaves her feeling exposed. From early childhood, she'd learned to develop the mental resilience needed to face opposition or difficulties despite her fears. The last time she'd let her guard down she'd ended up with a man whom she trusted to steer their relationship, and he took advantage of that, of her, in the worst kind of way. He nearly broke her. Ever since that _not_ beaitiful disaster, she'd gravitated to people, to men, who hardly fought her for control. Up until now that is, clearly. And Michonne realized to her dismay, she didn't want to fight anymore. She needed a break.

"The guy at your apartment," Rick said, driving the conversation into a different direction, "how long have you two been seeing each other?"

Michonne hesitated, blinking at him. "Excuse me?"

"The one with the key," he clarified, as though that validated him not minding his god-damned business. He knew very well he was out of line because the s.o.b. couldn't bring himself to even look at her.

But again, Michonne's desire to give some rein was present. Lucky for him she neither resisted nor objected. "Paul is a friend," she answered, quietly. "He helps look after Carl when I work late, or on the weekends. He's a certified sitter and he lives two doors down from me." That answer seemed to placate him, not that she cared much either way.

"Okay," he said, "Well if anyone is to visit here, they'll need to pass through security checks, prior. Meaning you'll have to let me know early on and I'll have our team make sure they're legit before stepping foot on our property."

She drew back. "That's a bit much, isn't it?"

"Not for us, no it isn't. About a year ago, a couple of intruders made it to the house late one night, tried to break in with the intention of kidnapping my mother for a ransom. Year before that, Shane got accosted by a car full of thugs right at the gate. Gunfire was exchanged."

Michonne's jaw fell open. "So you were serious about Carl's safety?"

"Of course, and yours. We can't be too careful. Not after one too many close calls. So, do we have a deal?"

Disturbed, she reached for the bottle of red wine and poured herself a drink. "Deal."

"Good." Rick cleared away Carl's plate while she gulped half her serving.

"Ooh, this is amazing," she said, "What is it?"

"It's from my great-grandparents' vineyard in Matraia, Italy. It's a blended wine."

She licked her lips. "I like it."

"Blending makes the product more complex...maximizes the expression of a wine. It can enhance aromas, color, texture, making it more well-rounded and intricate."

Michonne sampled another taste. "Mmm. Like life."

He gave her a questioning look that asked _'How so?'_

"You asked me before, at the diner, if I believed in fate," she expanded, "and I said that I wasn't sure. But, maybe I was wrong. Maybe I do believe in fate, or destiny, as well as free will." She shrugged. "Maybe I also believe in coincidences because really, it seems as though life is a little bit of everything."

He smiled and nodded. "The perfect blend."

"Yeah," Michonne sighed, relieved to find some sort of common ground with him; perhaps the start of a mutual understanding. Her conviction grew a little more, together they were going to make this work.

* * *

"Hey, do me a favor?" Rick said, charging like a bull into Negan's den. "This asshole act of yours, cut it out!"

Negan was standing to the side of a window, leaning against the wall peering out at something. Rufus sleeping at his feet. "Don't be so dramatic, Rick," he said, barely glimpsing behind at him, "It's part of the plan. And from what I've seen tonight, if you're not careful Michonne would soon have you eating out of the palm of her hand."

Rick narrowed his eyes, offended by this lack of confidence from him.

Shane, also present, had his shoes off as he stretched out like a snake on the leather sofa. He agreed with the eldest brother, explaining to Rick that he needed to stay focused and not wear his heart on his sleeve.

"I get it _fratello,"_ Shane said, clasping his hands beneath his head, "You want her to trust you. Just like we talked about. And maybe, you want her in your bed as well, which... is fine by me. Her body is exquisite so well done brother." He chuckled.

Rick sunk to the floor next to the couch. Placing his arms on his bended knees. "It ain't like that."

Shane pinned Rick with an accusatory look. "Yeah? Bullshit. You can't lie to me. But anyways, that's not what I'm worried about. The thing is not to let your heart get involved. That's always been your problem. You can't do one without the other. What you gotta remember, is that our endgame is Carl. He's ours. Yeah? He's one of us."

"The little tiger's got Papa's eyes," Negan added with a proud smile.

Shane nodded, his expression sinking for a moment. He and Dad were the closest, their unique bond forged due to their like-mindedness. When their father had passed, for a long time Shane lost himself, went down a dark, dangerous path and it took just about everything for Rick and Negan to help save him from his grief and despair.

"Better if you keep your hands to yourself," Negan said, contradicting Shane, "Let's make this transition as painless as possible. You heard what Gregory said; she has to sign over parental rights to you, or else it's a long adoption process that may not go the way we want it to."

Shane's knee nudged Rick's shoulder. "Which is clean cut."

"So stick to the frickin' plan." Going low on his haunches, Negan gathered his sleeping pet into his long arms. Stroking the shiny coat of fur, he moved closer to his siblings. "Don't. Get. Caught. Up," he warned, hovering over Rick. "I understand the pull like Shane said, I really do. And it's not just because she's...enchanting or whatever, it's the whole package. But you've had enough drama with manipulative women to last a lifetime brother, so stay sharp."

"I know what I'm doing," Rick muttered and Shane and Negan exchanged knowing glances.

"Yeah," Negan sighed, "If you say so. In the meantime, Simon is still at it. She's not in debt, but she's not exactly padded for for life either. Still, everyone's got skeletons in their closet. Soon enough we'll dig up hers and prove she's unfit. The sooner this is done, the better. Agreed?"

Eyes closed, Ricky rubbed his thumb at the middle of his forehead, his heart heavy and weighted. "Agreed."

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry about the long wait, but I spent the last couple of weeks drafting and plotting out the balance of the story. I was so excited I didn't want to stop until I reached the end. I hope you readers will enjoy it too. I'm excited to get your reactions to what's in store. As before, chapter 7 should be posted in a few days. Given my schedule I'm aiming for Wednesday.**

 **Thanks for responding and following. It makes this Baby-Mama drama so much more fun. Lol. 😁**


	7. EraseRewind

**Chapter 7:**

 **Erase/Rewind**

LATE SEPTEMBER, 2010.

"Think I'm doing this wrong."

Rick helplessly stared at the plastic and cloth contraption in his hand. Is this the back or the front? he wondered, utterly confused.

"No," he mumbled to himself, flipping the thing over, "the line is to the back, Mickey mouse is to the front."

He glanced at Carl who sat bare-bottomed on Michonne's bed. His pink mouth in a perfect little 'O' as he stared right back in doe-eyed wonder. The kid was no help, Rick thought. As a matter of fact, he refused to keep still adding to Rick's torment. Quickly it became some sort of a game; every two seconds Carl would roll over, slide down the bed, and try to make a run for it.

"How 'bout we try this again, huh buddy?"

"Mamma come," Carl stretched out his arm, opening and closing his pudgy fist, trying to summon his mother to save him from his dumbass father. Poor guy.

Rick fit his hands under Carl's arms and eased him onto his back again. "Mamma's busy. We're gonna do this on our own. She's getting dressed, so I need for you to cooperate with me. _Capisci_?"

But no, ' _No capisce?'_ With a squeal, Carl immediately flipped over onto his stomach and scurried his naked behind out of Rick's reach. With a growl of frustration Rick lunged for the toddler, he had no clue how he was supposed to this—hold the baby down, fit the diaper just right, and peel off those military-issued sticker tabby things, all at the same time.

"Rick, it's not that hard," Michonne said, approaching from behind. "This is the third time I've had to show you this." Apparently, she'd been quietly observing his epic failure.

He held up the nappy in exasperation. "The kid's a wiggling monster, you know that."

She laughed. "And you're a grown man. Look, hand me that."

The spark of amusement in her eyes made it hard for him not to return her smile. Rick grabbed a stuffed giraffe she pointed to lying at the foot of the bed. And as she proceeded to sing ' _Hey Diddle, Diddle'_ with the spotted toy, keeping Carl entertained, she simultaneously directed Rick step by step on how to get the job done.

"You know you don't have to do this. I got it covered," she said.

He stood back to admire his handiwork. "Aw, it's nothing. I want to, alright? How else am I gonna learn?"

"Thanks." She handed him Carl's pants and sweater. "Okay, Papa. Do your thang." She giggled and walked back into the closet.

Papa? Think he preferred plain ole 'Dad.' Or 'Father.'

While he dressed his son for daycare, Michonne ran hither thither getting herself organized for work. Today made it almost a week since she'd agreed to come to live in his family's house. Six days to be exact, and this was her second day back out to Signature Delicacies. This was quickly becoming a habit; him dropping by in the mornings, and one or two evenings included. It was the part of the day he started looking forward to.

With Negan gone, out in California on business, Rick felt more at ease to just enjoy getting to know his son. And of course, Michonne as well. He realized, however, that the more time spent in her company the more difficult it was becoming to remain objective.

She paused for a moment to rake her hair back into a loose ponytail, and Rick watched as her slender hands, delicate and long, looped the thin strap around her thick locs. The stretching movement untucked her white blouse from the narrow waistband of her black skirt, and for a tantalizing second, he caught a glimpse of the smooth curve of her waist.

Michonne held his gaze in the mirror. "Stop it."

Rick froze. A lack of decorum caused him to openly gape at her petite and curvaceous body accentuated by her fitted uniform. "Stop what?"

She arched a brow. "You know what. You're making me uncomfortable."

He shifted. "I um, I like observing your process, that's all."

"Yeah right. Real entertaining me scrambling to make myself presentable."

"You don't have to try too hard."

She turned to face him. That subtle gaze assessing him. "That's bullshit and you know it. I'm thirty, not twenty-one. And I haven't had a full night's rest since Carl."

Then off the cuff, he offered to hire her a nanny, which would eliminate the need to rush Carl off to daycare every morning. But Michonne shut that down instantly, not even willing to give it a moment's consideration. Rick rubbed the back of his neck. He reminded her that he too gets a say in Carl's life now. That she wasn't doing this alone anymore.

It took a full minute before she conceded. "You're right," she sighed, "I'm sorry, I have to adjust my thinking. Okay, what else did you have in mind? Hit me."

"Well, Dr. Cloyd is one of the best pediatricians in the city. I want us to take him for a full checkup."

"My boy is as healthy as a horse," she gestured to the toddler. With his boundless energy, the tiny human was running around, back and forth, the picture of perfect health. "But, sure, wouldn't hurt," she said, "Besides, there's so much news on some virus that's been going around...so yeah I'm good for a doctor's visit. That was easy, what else you got?"

He pulled out his phone, glancing at the screen. "I'm leaving in about fifteen minutes. If you're ready by then I'll drop you off. I mean the both of you. Save you the commute."

"You mean you don't like me driving your son in my eight-year-old Corolla, right?" she laughed and folded her arms. "You are so transparent. And shallow. But alright. Fine. I'll ride with you. How about twice for the week?"

"How about every day of the week?"

"No. Nuh, uh. You're being ridiculous."

"Come on."

"No, you come on."

He stood before her as she sat at the edge of the bed slipping her shoes onto her feet. "Say yes. You know you want to. You love my leather seats."

"Mmm," she murmured, thoughtful, "they do feel nice and comfy...but still."

"Think about it…" he sat next to her, "you can relax on your way to work, let Jerry keep an eye on the road..." He paused, letting the idea sink in.

"Then there _is_ that. The drive out here is an extra twenty minutes of traffic."

"A total inconvenience on my part."

He reached out to pinch the crease of her shirt-collar. In the process, his thumbs grazed her neck. She flinched and brushed away his hand, not wanting to be touched. Or was it she didn't like to be touched by him?

"Fine." She got up and lifted Carl onto her hip. "Come on pumpkin. Time to go see your friends. Dictator Daddy is trying to get on my nerves. Yes, he is. Yes, he is." She held him up high and blew raspberries into his stomach making him fold into a ball of giggles.

"I won't even respond to that," Rick said, watching the two with awe. With admiration. With envy. But over all else, with undeniable joy.

"Does Mamma care?"

Prompted by Michonne shaking her head Carl answered, "No."

"Very good!" she beamed and held up her palm for him to slap, "Give me high five. You're so smart. I love you so much."

Rick grabbed her purse and Carl's bag and followed her out.

"Morning Miss Andrews." In the driveway, Jerry stood waiting with a town car already running.

"Morning Jerry," she replied, placing Carl in his car seat. "You look good today."

"I try," he responded, holding the door open for her, "As usual, you don't look too bad yourself, with that big beautiful smile just brightening up the day."

Michonne lightly tapped his arm. "Hey now, aren't you a smooth operator." She then walked around and climbed in the other side.

Rick rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Jerry, think we need to get going."

His supposed bodyguard cleared his throat. "Yes, Boss."

Once they rolled out, heading towards the estate's gates, Michonne said, "Oh, Jerry, can you play 'Wheels on the bus'?"

Rick's arm shot out in protest. "Hold on, I have to listen to the Sports update, the business news, then we can have the sing-song, afterward."

Michonne scoffed. "Newsflash jackass, being a parent requires you to give everything. If I can't listen to Adele in the morning, then neither can you listen to Bill whoever."

"Hey, another reason to hire a nanny, it'll make things easier for yourself."

Michonne groaned in frustration. "I'm not interested in making things easier for myself. Besides, I will constantly be worried about what's going on with my kid and some _nanny_."

"Not just some nanny, we'll hire the best."

"Daycare centers provide a formal, structured environment Carl won't get being at home. Not to mention the advantages of being around his peers. And where he's at, the members of staff are all trained specifically in early childhood development and are fully capable of organizing the right mix of activities for babies, toddlers, and kids. Activities that teach them necessary skills. Carl spends his days doing exciting projects, honing his capabilities, and he's thriving after only three months. I'm good with that."

Her sounding like a documentary made him chuckle. "I hate to say it, but Shane's right about you. You're full of surprises."

"Yeah? Well here's another one for you: Siddiq's getting married this weekend and I need you to give me security clearance on a date."

Rick caught Jerry's darting gaze in the rearview mirror. He wasn't chuckling anymore. " A date? You have a date?"

"Mmmm," she squinted her eyes, "Yes and no. There is someone who I know is going to ask me, and, I'm going to say yes. So when he comes to pick me up here, I don't want your goons to hassle him." She reached forward and squeezed Jerry's shoulder. "No offense Jer."

"None taken Ma'am."

She looked back at Rick. "Okay?"

Something in the road made the car swerve and Rick's knee bumped into hers. She jerked and from the corner of his eye, Rick observed as she crossed her legs so that her body now twisted towards Carl and away from him. She really couldn't stand any contact with him.

"Sure," Rick said, trying not to read too much into her reaction. "This guy, give me his name and details, and I'll see to it he gets the okay."

She sighed in relief. "Great. Thanks. Gotta be honest with you, was a bit nervous about that one."

The corners of his mouth tugged down. "Why?"

She looked out her window. "You know why. I'm trying like hell to earn your trust; moved at the drop of a hat, put up with your dipshit brothers." She laughed bitterly. "I know you want to be close to Carl, keep him safe, and I'm here for that too, but I also know that you're not that different from Negan. You think I'm shady, you're just trying to be nice about it."

"Why would you think that?" he asked, pushing past the sudden thickness in his throat.

"The way you look at me, Rick. Always searching, second-guessing. I don't know. Anyways, I'll stay here for as long as it would take for you to believe I'm not a deceitful devil-woman. I'm here until you can see me as a friend."

"And then what happens?" He wouldn't even bother with denying her accusations.

She licked those full lips of hers and said, "I get back to my life, of course. We share custody, set up a visitation schedule; one that works for you and for me. And we move forward."

Rick's jaw hardened. Visitation? She can't be that naive, can she? He opened up his laptop, dropping the discussion. The rest of the morning ride was spent looking over the company's financial reports to the soundtrack list of _Hoopla Kidz._

* * *

It was another late evening when Rick strolled into the house exhausted and a bit on edge from working twice as hard to meet his deadlines. Getting a Romano-Grimes Department store out on the West coast was proving to be more difficult than the company originally anticipated.

However, discovering the copacetic scene of his mother and Carl snuggled together on the living room couch, engrossed in a video playing on her iPad, was heartwarming. As well as observing Michonne reclined on the floor looking content with stroking Rufus who was curled up in her lap.

"Um, Michonne," he called out and she looked up at him with a smile, her deep pool eyes unraveling him. Rick swallowed against the flutter in his stomach. "Could you give me a minute?"

"Hey," she said following him out to the corridor. "How'd it go today with the reports? You dazzled your associates with those numbers?"

Rick couldn't remember the last time a woman showed a hint of interest in the details of his unglamorous job as a CFO. During one of their morning drives, he'd told Michonne that he'd set up numerous meetings with engineers, trying to match his budget with their innovative ideas whilst keeping in mind California's protocols and building regulations.

"Yeah, I guess I did," he said, "It went pretty good, knocked it out of the park, thanks for asking."

"No problem, I'm glad to hear it. Carl missed you these last couple of days. Seems like you're growing on him pretty fast. You gonna come tuck him in tonight?"

"If you don't mind, that'll be nice." The glint in her eyes told him she was pleased and it made him feel...hmm, something. He wasn't quite sure but, what did you call...No. How do you refer to feeling taller, bigger, stronger? Yeah, because seeing how she stared at him with, dare he say satisfaction, made him feel just that—taller, bigger, stronger. It was nice. It was…

He cleared his throat perplexed as to why at that moment he was tripping on analyzing his feelings.

 _'Get a grip Dude!'_

"So, you and my Mom?" he asked.

"Yeah, took Carl for ice-cream, then went shopping at some store I had never heard about, and understandably so, the prices were...something else," she shook her head in disbelief. "Anyways, Veronica could not be stopped. But we had a great time, it was nice."

"Good. She likes you, and we know she's head over feet for Carl."

"How could she not, he's adorable. And not just because he has her genes."

He smiled. "And mine."

She rolled her eyes and huffed playfully. "Yes, Rick, and yours. Geez, the ego on you."

He laughed. "Yeah umm anyways, with regards to your request, it's uh..." he stammered, hesitating to get back to his main intentions, knowing he was about to put a frown on her face. "It's a no-go on your friend for this wedding. Sorry, that's how it goes sometimes." He took tentative steps backward and pointed his thumb in the same direction. "Gonna go wash up. See you at the dinner table."

"Hold up," she said, preventing him from making an easy escape. "Sorry? No, you're gonna have to add an explanation to that. What is it? What did you find?"

"Ummm," Rick murmured, his gaze fell to his phone as he scrolled through his contacts with no one to call in particular. He continued walking off. "Some sort of drug bust."

"What?!" She wrapped her fingers around his arm pulling him to a stop. "Wait, you mean like a little weed? Because that's not so bad."

"Yes Michonne, that is bad. And there's more to it than that."

"Really? How much more?"

Rick tilted his head side to side. "You know, a lot more… Gang stuff."

Michonne's eyes bugged out of her head. "Gabriel?! In a gang? Are you serious? His father's a Minister."

Shit! Busted. Maybe he really should've requested that report even though his mind had already been made up. He shrugged. "You never know with these kinds of things. Anyway, look it's almost dinner and I can't talk more right now."

"But I already said yes." She blocked his path.

"I said I'm sorry. You'll just have to go it alone."

"To a wedding? Hell no." Okay, you know what? I'll just-I'll just tell him to meet me there."

"No."

She frowned at his disapproval. "Rick, really."

"I just…" He swung his gaze away from hers. "Safety, we need to keep that as a priority. Like we discussed. What else do you want from me?"

"What I want is…" she sighed, yielding. "Forget it. Give me a couple of hours, I'll find someone else."

He froze. Someone else? "Isn't the wedding tomorrow?"

"Yeah so? I need an escort, someone to keep me company. I'm gonna find me a date. It's not hard."

"Cocky aren't we?"

"No Rick," she smirked. "I know what I'm working with. Listen, give me an hour and I'll get back to you, okay?"

"Wait," he called out, stopping her from strutting away, "What...what about me?" His stomach flipped.

 _'Hell, why did I say that?'_

"If it's just an escort that you need I could...you know..." His pulse raced. He had no idea what in the world had gotten into him, or what the hell he was doing. He didn't want to place himself in this position, but for some inexplicable reason, he couldn't stop the words falling out of his mouth. Which, apparently, was now detached from his brain. "If you would consider it, me, then I won't mind being your um, date. As a favor of course. Just a friendly favor. I mean I do like weddings so..."

Oh god! He should just shut up. Better yet turn, and walk straight to his den, unlock the safe, retrieve his revolver, and shoot himself.

 _'Okay, okay let's rewind this a bit.'_

He glanced up to find her staring blankly at him. A clear signal that he should quit this embarrassment.

"No," she said quietly.

His brows hiked up.

"I mean, no thank you. Think that isn't such a good idea." She averted her eyes. "You understand."

 _'Yeah, yeah.'_

He nodded, his face flushed red. "Of course."

"Good. Give me one hour?"

He didn't know why, but he felt offended. Why wouldn't it be a good idea? They were getting along, weren't they? And like she said, she just wanted the company. Wasn't he good company? Hadn't he kept his temper in check, proved to be a gentleman? Yes. He had. So then it must've been something else. Something she was probably hiding from him.

"You know what, I don't have time for this. I'm going with you and that's final. I don't want to hear anything more about it."

He walked away leaving her stunned at his decision/outburst.

 _'Too much dude. Do you have any idea who you are right now?'_

No. He had no goddamned clue. Rick stopped in his tracks and turned back. He couldn't destroy what little trust she'd developed in him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. The truth is it'll be nice to spend some time with you and Carl, that's all. Okay?"

She shook her head, refusing to be placated so easily. "Did you really do a background check on Gabriel?"

He decided it was best not to respond to that. He already was in deep shit.

"So you lied? Why? Because I'm trying my best here." Her last words choked out.

"I know."

"You're fucking unbelievable."

He stepped closer. "I know."

She stood opposite him looking fittingly solemn, and annoyed. Long gone was the warm cheerful glint that greeted him minutes ago. "Just forget it, alright?" She started walking back to the living area, hands balled into fists, and Rick ran after her.

"Michonne." When he got near he reached out and snatched her arm, spinning her round to face him. But she refused to meet his eye, instead, she resolutely focused beyond his shoulder.

"Don't." She pulled away from his grip. "Don't bother coming by after dinner. Carl's had a long day, he needs to rest."

Rick felt every bit of a jackass right then as he watched her storm off down the hallway.

* * *

Rick tugged on the hem of his jacket, wondering if the three-piece Zegna suit he'd chosen was too much. He hoped not. It was either that or a tuxedo. And in any case, according to his sources, there wasn't enough time for him to change, Michonne would be leaving soon.

With one last fix of his hair, he knocked on her door, mentally prepared for whatever tongue lashing she had in store for him. Rick, however, was not prepared for the vision that appeared before him. His brows jumped to his hairline and he felt his heart hammer in his chest, something he couldn't recall ever happening in years. She was stunning. In a simple floor-length, ivory and gold, Indian styled dress, Michonne looked breathtaking. It was ironic because unlike the day before Rick now had no memory on how to speak, he was reduced to muteness. Instead, his eyes meticulously studied the way the chiffon material was elaborately wrapped around her shapely torso and draped over her shoulder.

"Why are you here?" she asked, with a dip of her brow.

"Am I on time?" he managed to mumble.

Her expression was thoughtful. "I said no to this, remember?" Her dangling gold earrings and bangles made tinkling sounds as she brought a nervous hand to her throat.

"Yeah, I remember."

"And, I didn't cancel. I'm expected to meet him in less than an hour."

"Well, I could keep Carl," Rick improvised, "so you could be free to socialize with your date." He wrenched his gaze away from hers, spied his son across the room, and stepped inside to collect him.

Carl looked dapper in cream-colored cotton pajama pants, with a long-sleeved mustard top matching perfectly with his Mamma.

Rick picked him up from where he sat on the floor with his blocks. "You can meet us downstairs when you're done."

Michonne's mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out. She gestured towards the bed and he grabbed up the baby bag before heading out the door.

"I'm sorry," he said, minutes later once they were bundled up in her sedan. "About what I did, ruining your plans. Interfering unnecessarily with your personal life. I made the wrong call and I'm sorry. "

When she didn't respond he added, "Please, I only wanna make it up to you."

She side-eyed him.

"What, you think I don't? Listen, for the next few hours you're stuck with me. You and Mr. what's his face. Why not make the best of it?"

She shook her head and chuckled. "I don't want to be late. Let's go." As her hand reached for the ignition, Rick placed his fingers on her wrist to hold her attention.

"You look beautiful by the way."

She glimpsed at him, perplexed.

"You do," he insisted. "In that dress? Trust me, you wouldn't have stayed alone for too long."

"I know," she said, with a half smile tugging at her dark-red lips, "And it's called a sari."

He laughed at her cockiness. Clearly, she was still pissed, but he wouldn't let the night end with this rift between them.

"Truce?" He extended his hand and she shook it.

"Truce."

He lingered, gliding his thumb back and forth over her skin. Her palm was soft, inviting, and a look passed between them. In reality, because of Carl, they were stuck together for the rest of their existence. And Rick concluded, what would be so wrong with that? She loved his son, and vice-versa. No one who spent five minutes with them could deny that. Together with her intellect, her self-assuredness, the way she stood up to him, maybe, he thought, his luck had changed with this woman. This woman who was exactly who she said she was.

His eyes pierced hers for a beat too long and she broke the spell by taking back her hand...as usual. Rick buckled in his seat wondering how he would make this work. He wasn't sure, but he knew that something had to give, that he'd figure it out.

As she drove out the cobblestone driveway, his phone rang. An immediate tightness in his chest occurred at the sight of the name on the screen. He contemplated not answering the call but thought better of it as this could be the opportunity to call off Negan's dogs.

"Yeah," he said into the speaker, keeping his voice neutral.

"Hey it's me. I think I finally got something."

Rick's heart sank a little but kept his resolve. "Don't think I need it anymore."

The line went quiet for a while, but then Simon said, "You don't?"

"No." He stole a glance at the beauty beside him. "Things changed."

"Really? Huh. Gotta tell yuh, what I have here is what you'd call an Ace in the hole, my friend. Your brother paid a lot of money for this. Hear what, why don't I just fax the first few pages? That's right...pages. Trust me, you'll be singing a different tune when you read what I've dug up. They don't call me the bulldog for nothing, everyone's got secrets."

"Alright," Rick muttered, turning towards his window. "Might as well send the whole thing. I'll call you when your monies are paid in full."

Before the s.o.b. could respond, Rick hung up.

"Everything okay?"

Rick looked over at Michonne to discover an expression of concern on her face. He wanted to force a smile but couldn't, instead, he shook his head swallowing against the bitterness that now seeped in.

"It's nothing," he said, "Just a business deal gone bad."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

No, I'm sorry, he shouted in his head.

He couldn't keep up with this charade for much longer. He would need to run interference, figure out how to quickly and efficiently come to a settlement before the decision was made for him.


	8. Mental Control

**Chapter 8:**

 **Mental Control**

"So, let me get this straight," Siddiq said, as he managed to catch a moment with Michonne near the bottom of the stage amid the joyous celebrations. "You're here with not one but _two_ dates for the evening?"

She dusted her fingers from the _Gur pare_ she'd been nibbling on. "Yes."

"And one is Rick Romano-Grimes himself."

"Yes."

"And he happens to be Carl's father?"

"Yes."

"Hmph," Siddiq arched his brow. "You've been holding out on me."

She gestured to the one hundred and fifty guests mingling within the hall with its elaborate red and gold decorations. "You were too caught up with the last minute details of your wedding preparations. Didn't want to offload on you just yet."

"No. You never think anyone gives a crap about your life, and so you choose to keep your cards close to your chest. You've been this way since forever." He bumped his shoulder against hers. "I know you."

And he did. Almost better than anyone else.

During middle school when his family moved to Senoia, they'd formed an unlikely friendship. Being the only kid of East Indian descent, in the entire school population, automatically made him an outcast. For completely different reasons, Michonne was an outcast herself. When cutting history class one afternoon, she came across the scrawny newbie getting his ass washed by two ignorant rednecks under the bleachers. One right hook and a bloody nose later, Michonne and Siddiq became inseparable friends. He knew about her eternal struggle with survivor's guilt after losing her mother and sister in a car accident, and how she never intended to start a family of her own because of that.

"Please, let this be the last time," he begged, "You're going through something, come talk to me about it. Also, how dare your date looks so much better than me. I'm the damned groom!" He gestured to the regal couch behind them up on the artistically adorned platform.

She chuckled. "Which one?" As if she didn't already know.

"The one you keep staring at."

Michonne glanced away guiltily.

"Hey, I don't blame you. Rick Grimes looks like he stepped off a billboard for _Men's Fashion_ magazine."

Michonne bit her lower lip. She wouldn't dare voice her opinion on that. But...in her private thoughts...hell yes, she most definitely agreed. The crisp black suit that seemed to be tailor-made for Rick had her, and probably every other woman in that reception, salivating over him.

Not to mention the added adorable factor of Carl obliviously happy in his father's arms.

From day one of their living arrangements she'd told herself that she needed to keep her head straight and her mind clear. Especially since she'd recently received a phone call from Heath, her gym's assistant manager, informing her that some shady stranger came sniffing around her business back home in Senoia. Walking a fine line with the Grimes left very little room for any slip-ups. So whatever attraction she felt towards Rick had to be eradicated as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, that resolve to remain neutral hopped, skipped, and jumped right over the cliff the moment Rick showed up at her door, looking disgustingly handsome as he was that evening. The way his searing gaze consumed her from head to toe, triggered her body into heightened awareness, leaving her both speechless and without her defenses. It was irritating.

Michonne forced a smile and lifted her gaze to meet her friend's. "All that matters is that Doctor Kavita Badour-Ali has eyes only for you."

"Praise be to Allah for that, yes?" Siddiq reached into her bowl and snagged one of her candied biscuits.

"Where is your gorgeous bride anyway?" The two had been rightfully attached at the hip since the ceremony.

"Her closest cousin isn't feeling so well. As a matter of fact, she went to arrange for her to get home early." He glimpsed his watch. "If you don't mind, I'd like to go see what's taking her so long."

Michonne dusted some crumbs from her cheek. "Of course. Go."

As she now stood alone, Michonne took the opportunity to set out on her own search for her true date, Gabriel. The last she'd seen of him though, he'd sauntered off with Rosita whilst discussing the merits of believing in heaven and hell. A bit morbid for her taste, hence the reason why she'd excused herself to seek out the company of Siddiq.

Fortunately, her hunt wasn't for long. It took her two minutes to locate one half of the pair seated by their table. Michonne interrupted Rosita's conversation with the woman next to her, to inquire on Gabriel's whereabouts. Rosita informed her that he'd disappeared awhile ago to the men's bathroom, and for some unknown reason, hadn't been back since.

Whilst Michonne deliberated on whether or not to go find her partner, her son, along with his father, made their way towards her. Michonne crouched low and embraced her giggling toddler as he hurtled forward. She lifted him onto her hip, pressing kisses all over his cheeks and neck. However, their reunion was cut short as Carl became quickly distracted by another boy sitting with his parents at the same table across from them. Michonne didn't know the couple, but they had no qualms about allowing the two juniors to freely play peek-a-boo with each other.

"Forgive me yet?" Rick whispered, stealing her attention from the youngsters.

"Mmm, no. Not yet. But two more of these and we might be settled." She handed him the now-empty dessert bowl she'd been munching from. The traditional Indian sweets were too damned addictive.

"Done. I'll even bring you three."

"Yeah well, good luck with that, Mama bear over there is looking to hoard for the winter. She hasn't moved from that table in almost two hours. And given that you're a lightweight, you don't stand a chance against her."

Rick peered at the heavyset woman presented as the mother of the bride. "Hmm, you might be right. Her fists are…"

"The size of your head. But, come on, don't chicken out now. You might have a chance. Even if it's a micro-milli-subatomic chance, just believe in yourself."

"Naw, think I'll pass. Besides, I can think of better ways to earn your forgiveness."

"I highly doubt that."

He held out his hand. "One dance. Come on."

"No."

"No? Why not? Chicken?"

"Don't be juvenile," she reprimanded.

"Then come on now," he pressed, with a lopsided grin. "I am an excellent dancer."

"Is that how you really make your money?"

He shrugged. "When I need a little extra on the side. Jerry's pretty and his services ain't cheap..."

She grunted. "I don't want to get my real date jealous. He is a known gangbanger after all. You should be afraid for your life."

His face grew serious and he clutched her hand. "You just want to stay mad at me, don't you?"

"No, what I want is to know how someone who is so adamant about transparency and trust could turn out to be a bold faced liar and a sneak himself. You know what's that called? Hypocrisy."

He looked around, her voice had risen to the point where she drew the attention of others who'd stopped to listen. Including Rosita who thankfully held Carl in her lap now.

"Okay ouch. You got me. Now let's dance." He set aside the dish on the nearest table and led her onto the dancefloor, but she pulled her hand away from him.

"Are you gonna be this annoying for the rest of the night?" she muttered.

"Are you gonna be so stubborn?"

"Me, stubborn?"

"Look," he huffed, "I crossed the line and I said I'm sorry."

"Well, I don't accept your apology."

"Now who's being juvenile." He held both of her arms now and spun her around, nudging her to the edge of the crowded room. "We called a truce," he hissed, as she turned to face him, arms folded. "I admitted I was wrong. What else can I do to convince you of my sincerity?"

She shrugged. "No more security clearance bullshit."

"It's not bullshit."

"It is when it comes to me. Look, if it's a near-stranger then fine. Run all the checks you want. But if it's someone close to me, then let's skip that. Agreed?"

"Agreed. But, what about... future dates?"

She dropped her arms in disbelief. "That's none of your damned business Rick! If anything, I'll make other arrangements."

His eyes bored into hers with such fire, Michonne literally felt her body turn into hot liquid.

"What?"

Rick rest his fingers at her waist. "Nothing." He started to sway slightly and she fell into the rhythm. To who or what was playing, she had no idea. All she could focus on was how her heart drummed against her ribcage like crazy. She tried to put some distance between them so he couldn't tell. Despite her agitated emotions, her body was betraying her.

His hand slipped around to the small of her back and pressed her close. "Relax."

She frowned.

"You're with a professional, remember?" he smirked.

After a few minutes of breathing in his musky cologne, she let herself become less anxious and released her tension.

"Maybe, you're right," he admitted, when another song started, although she wasn't sure to what he was confessing. Sensing her confusion he clarified, "Maybe I am a hypocrite."

Silence. Michonne allowed her gaze to flicker over his reddening face, his expression was taut and she wanted to believe his remorse was genuine.

"Just had one too many bad calls," he mumbled. "With women. So there's this need to be extra cautious, it's become second-nature. It's nothing personal."

"I love Carl," she retorted with indignation.

"Yeah, I know. I know you want what's best for him."

"Then focus on _that_. You'll find that things between us would be so much...simpler."

He nodded and stared at her. She blinked away as tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

When the second song rolled into a third, Michonne craned her neck to catch a glimpse of her son. He was still in his glee with Rosita and his new-found partner.

"He is going to be tuckered out tonight," Rick said, following her gaze.

Michonne smiled, she definitely hoped so as she intended to sleep in late tomorrow morning. The store would be closed.

The conversation then took an unexpected turn when Rick, out-of-the-blue, asked how she felt about the couple who took her in. If they were good parents and if she wanted to follow their example.

She paused to bury her rising discomfort. "Yes, they were. I felt like I got lucky," she said, recalling the first night she was brought to their house. "They'd chosen me, made me part of their family. But I just couldn't love them back," she confessed, heavy-hearted, "not like I was supposed to. Only lukewarm appreciation. Up to this day I still don't get it; what was wrong with me."

"Nothing," Rick tilted his head and narrowed his gaze at her, incredulous. "Absolutely nothing. You were only a child, weren't you? Having to deal with devastating circumstances? I'm sure they knew that and understood."

Michonne shifted uncomfortably. "I could've been better. Not so challenging." More like her sisters who were a lot more even-tempered.

"Maybe. But they didn't treat you differently, did they? If they did, you wouldn't harbor any guilt now, would you? They took care of you. Made you feel safe because you were worth it." He pulled her nearer and whispered in her ears. "We all have regrets, Michonne, myself included. Just gotta learn when it's time to put them to rest."

Her arm tightened around his shoulder, and she nodded. "I'll try."

* * *

Later that night, Carl's cries jolted Michonne out of her sleep. Disoriented, she threw back the plush covers and rolled out of bed.

Adjusting to new sleeping quarters in such a short space of time affected him as well, but his pained whining tonight meant something different.

Michonne bent over the crib's bars and rubbed his head. His hair was damp. "Sweetie, you okay? What's wrong?"

He tucked his legs under his little body, bringing his knees up to his chest. Curled into a ball he cried harder. Michonne's sleep-addled brain became sharp with concern and she took her child into her arms, huddling him close. Turning on all the lights, she then placed Carl on her bed gently inspecting his body for any visible causes of his aggravation. No bruises, no bites, no marks. Nothing. Thank god.

But his non-stop fussing turned his face crimson, and soon a foul scent filled the room. Michonne felt a pinch in her heart. Despite her better judgment, she'd let him nibble a few samples of the delicious, yet unfamiliar, reception foods.

"Aww baby, you've got an upset tummy. Mommy's so sorry."

She began to apply light pressure on his abdomen to help ease his pain, usually sipping on warm water as well assisted in alleviating his indigestion. But how to smuggle a squealing toddler down to the kitchen without waking the entire household in the dead of night? She reached for her phone, one in the morning. There's nothing more irritating for people without children than a wailing baby. Well, to hell with them. Michonne picked up her kid, slipped on her slippers and rubbed his back whilst humming a tune in hopes of calming him enough to make a dash for it.

Just at that moment, someone came knocking. Oh crap! Too late. The pure quiet of the house had been disrupted. Before she could respond, the door swung open, and Rick surged forward into the room.

"Hey. What's going on?" he said, reaching for Carl. "I could hear him all the way down the hall."

"Rotten guts. He needs to poop, it'll pass."

Rick's head swung back as soon as a whiff of Carl's irritable bowels slapped him in the face. "Oh god, that's awful." He pressed his fist against his mouth, puffing out his cheeks.

Michonne laughed. "That's the job Big Papa. Here, hold him." She transferred her son into his father's arms. "I was about to get his sippy cup, fill it with some water. Give me a few minutes? When I get back you can—"

"No, I'm here to help," he said, predicting she was about to give him permission to leave.

"Okay." She looked at him with appreciation while he gazed at his son with more love and empathy than ever. Rick rocked the little guy back and forth, nurturing Carl on instinct despite his acute inexperience.

She also just recognized Rick's state of dress—plain white t-shirt, blue pajama shorts, and bare legs and feet. He looked so homey. A sharp contrast to his debonaire appearance hours ago. Either way, her nerve endings tingled with awareness once again, and she had to remind herself to rein her emotions in.

But why? Face the facts. She liked looking at Rick friggin' Grimes. The man was too goddamned sexy. There, she admitted it. All she could do _was_ look anyway, she didn't want anything physical from him.

It was a quick run to and from the kitchen. When she got back, Carl's wails dialed down to hiccups and sobbing.

With his cup in hand, they placed him on his back and Michonne raised his pajamas to rest a heated towel on his stomach for added relief. As Michonne sat beside the baby, Rick took up her phone without asking.

"What are you doing?" she inquired.

"I'm Googling it."

Michonne jerked her head back. "That's insulting, I know how to handle this."

"Found it."

She stood up and peered over his shoulder. "What does it say? Wait, who are these people?"

He shushed her as he read from God-knows-what-source and she clouted his back.

"Just making sure it's nothing more serious, Michonne."

The same thought had, of course, crossed her mind. But after multiple "emergency" visits to the doctor's office for the slightest concerns, she'd learned months ago not to jump to worst case scenarios and panic. Going on the internet for answers could send any new parent on a tailspin. She detected the intensity in Rick's eyes as he devoured the information on-screen.

"If he's constipated, we should pedal his legs."

"Yeah, was about to in the next few minutes."

"I think we should do it now." He furrowed his brows with a small pout of his lips and she laughed. He's tormented.

"Give him a few minutes Big Papa, geez. He's going to be okay."

He grunted, replacing the phone on the side table. "Fine. You know…" he folded his arms watching her rub Carl's tummy. "I love it when you call me Big—"

"Shush!"

They both grinned.

Before long, with some more coaxing, and yes pedaling, Carl fought through his discomfort and was finally able to relieve himself. Rick surveyed his son with pride.

"I can't believe that worked," he said.

"Well lucky for this guy it did."

"Lucky indeed. You know you can't always trust what you read on the Internet."

Michonne retrieved his supplies and handed the diaper and wipes to Rick.

"I uh…" he stammered. Where was his pride now?

"Have at it. I believe in you Rick Grimes," she teased.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He took the wipes and pulled out five, one after the next.

Michonne squeezed back her amusement and went to run her son a bath instead.

Once Carl was freshened up and poop free, he quickly tired out and fell asleep.

"Thanks so much for everything," Michonne said, as she watched Rick place him in his crib. It was nice not having to be up alone late at night with a fussy child. For Michonne, the past two years felt like a constant hangover. Caring for both Lori and Carl. It's no joke how exhausted she always was.

"You think he got it all out?" he asked as she followed him into the darkened hallway. She left the door ajar for some light.

"He'll be fine I promise. Soft foods for the next couple of days and he'll be back to normal. Trust me."

He didn't say anything, reminding her of his view of women. She rolled her eyes. Well, the peace was nice while it lasted.

Rick stared straight at her and nodded slightly. "I think I do. But I..."

Michonne raised her hand to silence him, blinking her gratitude. She'd take that crumb and run with it. They regarded each other in the shadows, besides them, nothing and no one else stirred within the giant house. Michonne glanced around, still in awe of the majestic structure. Bathed in mostly moonlight, the tall ceilings and unique paintings gave her a surreal thrill as though she'd been inserted in some perverse fantasy.

Rick moved a step closer, and Michonne caught her breath because his movement was so sudden. His hand raised and he tousled his unruly hair. She should've told him goodnight, send him back to his room so she could do the same. But instead, she quietly waited.

"Would you call me if he wakes up again?" he asked, crossing his arms, stuffing his fingers under his armpits.

"Sure. But he won't."

"He might. He was in so much pain."

"You want to take him to see a doctor in the morning?"

"Yeah," he breathed. An expression of relief replaced the worry on his face.

Under the moonlight, his softened features looked more handsome, and Michonne swallowed. Doting father suited him much better than overbearing tyrant.

"How have you been doing this?" he asked, "It's so..."

"Overwhelming?" Michonne shrugged. "You just do it."

In the blink of an eye, Rick appeared nearer. Observing her intently. Her body trembled and her voice, when it came out, was a whisper. "I should get back."

Rick reached out and ran his knuckles alongside her jaw, tilting her chin up. She intended to draw away but found herself leaning closer. His mouth swiftly descended on hers and she didn't hesitate to part her lips, permitting him to taste her as she needed to taste him. No subtle adjustments to being in each other's intimate space. They just snapped together like magnets.

His hands traveled down to her waist, then snaked around to her back dragging her body towards his. Excitement coursed through her system at being pressed against the hard lines of his chest. She couldn't help but feel the ramming of his heart between them; the rapid pace of which rivaled her own. In an instant, she'd lost all reasoning. Michonne cupped his face, her fingertips aware of every hair bristling his cheeks. The strength in his arms locked her in but it didn't elicit fear at being trapped, but confidence at being wanted. His scent, his warm breath on her skin, sent jolts of electricity to her heart and Michonne felt like she would pass out. So, she wound her arms around his neck, clinging to him for support. The kiss which started off hard and desperate, gentled to a caress as Rick licked, nipped, and savored every corner of her mouth. She wanted it to never end. The longer they kissed the faster their memories of who they were evaporated. Still, she arched into his arousal with pleasure and he thrust her against the door. The dull thud, however, bumped her back into reality.

 _'Oh my god.'_

Her eyes flew open and she turned from him.

 _'Oh. My god.'_

"Mi piace come mi baci," he whispered.

 _'What? Oh…'_

"I like how you kiss me too," she answered.

He drew back and smiled.

"It's…"

"Different?"

"Yeah," she sighed. So, so different. And so passionate. She felt incredibly hot from just that one kiss. As a matter of fact, her fingers were still entangled in his hair. Gripping the nape of his neck. She should let go. Yes. She should. She knew she should because every second spent in his arms made things more and more complicated. And their situation, suffice it to say, was hella complicated enough as it was.

 _Michonne let go!_

She wrenched herself away from him and watched as a frown appeared on his face.

"This is a bad idea, isn't it?" he asked.

"Absolutely."

He looked taken aback by her blunt appraisal. "Then why'd you kiss me back?!"

Her eyes widened as t his outburst. "Are you for real? You think I have some ulterior motive? Please, enlighten me. Because maybe you missed it but you're the one falling over yourself to get at me."

She sensed his irritation boiling down. Still, there was doubt in his eyes and she was not having it. "As I said, the kiss was nice but what are we going for here? Is it in Carl's best interests to make things more complicated? All of this…" she gestured to the mansion, " I don't want it. I want Carl to know his father and that's it. You seem to want the same thing."

"I do."

"Okay. Good."

Closing her eyes, she raised her fingers to her temples. She felt a drumming headache coming on and groaned. Taking notice, Rick suddenly hooked her waist and lifted her off her feet.

"No, don't." Michonne tried to jerk herself free, but he only tightened his grip around her.

"You can't even take care of yourself," he growled in her ear.

"What?"

He pushed the door further open, carried her back to her bed, where he set her down and removed the covers. "Get in."

"What is wrong with you?"

"You're exhausted."

"And I need you to tuck me in?" She sucked her teeth, "Please." She hated his display of machismo, as though she were weak. "It'll be a mistake to underestimate me, many boys _and_ men have come to regret it."

"Of course they have." He nodded towards the mattress. "Now get in."

Michonne rolled her eyes and heaved a heavy sigh before crawling in between the sheets. Rick spun on his heel, disappeared into her bathroom only to reappear a minute later with her bottle of aspirin. Swiping up Carl's sippy cup from the bedside table, he twisted off the top and handed it to her with its remaining contents. Under his watchful gaze, she swallowed the damned pills.

"Happy?" She glared at him.

His eyes squinted at her for long seconds. "Alright."

"Um, alright what?"

"Alright I confess, I wanted to kiss you." He ran his hands through his hair. "Still do."

Michonne felt her face heat up. "But you're not going to, right?"

He twisted his mouth, insulted. "Of course. Not unless..."

"Not unless nothing," she cut him off. "Look, I know all this is tempting, but please, for the greater good, promise to keep your hands to yourself. You can't handle me in any case." She smiled as his face colored. It amused her to make him blush and take down his ego a peg or two.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You are one confident woman. Makes me wonder if your bark is worse than your bite."

Michonne swallowed hard at the challenge in his eyes, her legs curled up under her torso and she clenched her fists. "Whatever. Do we have a deal? No touching, no kissing, nothing. Let's keep things professional...for lack of a better word."

Rick ignored her and walked over to the lamp, turning it off.

"Do we have a deal?" she repeated, the throbbing in her head going full throttle. In the dark, she watched as his silhouette bent over her. She felt his warm hands cup her neck, and he drew her to his mouth. He then slid his tongue over her lips.

Her heart stopped.

"No. No deal," he said with quiet seriousness. "Good night, Michonne."

Michonne regarded him as her eyes adjusted to the darkened room. A thoughtful expression weighed on his face. "Good night, Rick."

A haunting sensation arose within her. When Rick Grimes walked away, he took something from her and that meant their time together in that house was up. She needed a new plan. This wasn't going to work. Less than two weeks under the same roof and already, things between them got dicey.

 _'Shit.'_


	9. Ever changing Times

A/N: Hey folks. How's the second half season 9 treating y'all? Hanging in there? Yeah me too.

Moving on. Sorry for the delay on this update. It turned into a huge, huge chapter and became overwhelming. So I cut it up into smaller sections which you guys would probably notice. The good thing is I can promise the next few chapters should roll out in a more timely schedule. Enjoy!

 **Chapter 9:**

 **Ever Changing Times**

Rick drove into the small parking lot attached to the private offices of Dr. Denise Cloyd and pulled his Audi into the last remaining spot. The best pediatrician in their district, with a packed schedule, Rick felt eternally grateful after the doctor agreed to fit Carl in this morning for an eleven o'clock visit. Before the ignition got switched off, Michonne exited the vehicle and Rick lingered behind the wheel, watching her in the rearview mirror as she swung the back door open to unstrap a sleeping Carl from his car seat.

All in silence.

She did say she wanted their relationship to remain 'professional,' or whatever the hell that meant, and up until they'd arrived for the appointment, she'd been quiet, aloof, distracted. Her delicate chin propped against her small palm, her eyes finding new interests in the world that blurred past outside, whilst her aura created an invisible shield within.

Pretending, pretending, pretending— that he's not there; that there wasn't something between them; that last night was a figment of _his_ imagination.

He allowed it.

Despite having anxiety pooled in his stomach, he was beginning to understand how she operated.

Or so he thought.

Most times than not, Rick liked to think of himself as a man who strove for order and stability. Not just in his work, but, more importantly, in his life. He'd learned first hand the type of carnage a person could suffer as a result of plain ole ignorance, exposing oneself to risk in the name of love. It was not an experience he wished to be repeated. Therefore, it was not his way.

Last night, however…

 _Lord God, Father above._

Last night he'd thrown all caution to the wind. It shocked him. Especially how at first they were both so open and willing.

The effect of that realization was more potent than the actual kiss. It set his skin on fire. Burned it's way past his rib cage, right through his lungs then further down into his stomach and deeper still, until he was left breathless.

And she _seemed_ genuine. Even after, with her attempt at rejection.

Rick chuckled to himself as he stepped out of the car. He could admit that what she'd said made sense. To set boundaries, and not cross them, would ensure they're not messing things up by making irrational decisions based on a burst of emotions.

In the moment though, he couldn't bring himself to agree with that. Why? Well simply because he didn't _want_ that—have you seen her? The woman was flipping gorgeous—there's something there and he couldn't ignore it any longer. He wouldn't.

He'd tried to before, to dismiss the initial spark he felt when she'd first invaded his world. He had hoped that the flare of desire would fizzle out on its own. But it didn't. It had only grown stronger. Now, he was determined to know exactly why.

Draping Carl's bag sideways across his shoulder, Rick led the way towards the glass front entrance. The silence between him and Michonne was finally broken, once they entered the pristine lobby of the medical facility, and immediately escorted to their physician.

The paperwork and physical exam took about twenty-five minutes to complete. Carl's sore tummy was, thankfully, not a major concern. In comparison to his condition the night before, he only experienced slight discomfort. Further review of Carl's medical records, led to Michonne recounting Lori's history battling stage four Melanoma.

"How soon can we get him tested?" Rick asked when she'd finished. He didn't mean for his voice to waver but it did. Real fear unexpectedly, leaped to his chest at hearing how aggressive and persistent his ex's cancer had been.

"Well, Mr. Grimes," Doctor Cloyd responded with soft-spoken sweetness, "Childhood cancers are rare."

Michonne looked at him with concern. "It's a small possibility," she added for reassurance. "Right, doctor?"

"Right. Very small, we're talking 5 to 10 percent of all cancers are thought to be strongly related to an inherited gene mutation. Whereas most cancers start because of _acquired_ gene mutations due to or triggered by, outside forces. Such as overexposure to sunlight in cases of Melanoma, like Carl's birth mother. In her instance, the acquired mutations did not affect all of her body's cells, just the ones that grew from the mutated cell. Her normal cells would not have the mutations, therefore the mutations would not be passed on to her children."

Michonne reached for his hand and he permitted his fingers to intertwine with her own. She's breaking her own self-imposed rule of no touching, but he knew it was only to lend him emotional support, and it was appreciated.

He took a deep breath, feeling the ease of relief. "So he should be in the clear?"

"Well for now, yes," Doctor Cloyd said, closing off Carl's file on her computer. "Any genetic testing to be done would be to look for inherited gene mutations. Still, like all children you have to be careful about what he's exposed to. Listen, it's a lot of information to process and lucky for you we have a plethora of pamphlets and brochures on the subject, and I'm pretty much available any time to field any future inquiries you may have."

"Okay, Doc. We appreciate that," Michonne said, giving him a gentle squeeze before pulling away.

"In the meantime, Mom, Dad…" The young pediatrician directed her gaze towards Carl who had been preoccupied with a big red beanbag chair. "Your son is perfectly healthy. Don't stress about the 'what if's.' Just keep an eye open. And we'll schedule regular check-ups."

Back in the waiting room, whilst Michonne coordinated with the receptionist for a future appointment, Rick spotted a little girl fussing with her mother. She was imploring to be taken home before getting a shot. That poor woman, Rick thought, she was probably more stressed out than the kid about having a needle puncturing her baby's arm.

With a sympathetic smile, Rick approached the pair, squatting down on his haunches to chat with the little one. She was beautiful; dark curly hair and large grey eyes set on what he believed was called a cherub face. A face that could melt a devil's defenses.

"Hey. Come on now," he cajoled, "It's not so bad."

"Yes!" the petulant child insisted, "It is. It's very, very bad. And I don't wanna. I don't wanna do it. I can't."

Rick bit back a smile at her ginormous pouty face. "Oh yes, you can. Think you're fearless. Isn't that right Mom?" He flicked his gaze up at the mother who sported the same thick mane.

A grateful smile curled the corner of the woman's lips and she nodded. "That's right, she is. Bella, you're always climbing the huge tree in the backyard, aren't you?"

"See. If you can be fearless then, you can be fearless now. And... I'll let you in on a little secret," Rick lowered his voice to a whisper, "I happen to know for a fact that Mom here is gonna buy you a double scoop cone of your favorite ice-cream. With as many sprinkles as you want."

She blinked up at her mother with big sorrowful eyes. "No, she's not."

"Oh yes, she is. Hey," he tapped her nose, "Doctor's orders. But only if you be a big tough girl for the nurse, okay?"

She sniffled, looking him over with the attentiveness of a toddler. "Okay."

As her mother was then summoned by a lady in pink scrubs, who escorted them both into a smaller office, Rick glanced up to find Michonne behind him observing with a strange expression on her face. It was as if she were trying to figure something out. He stood up slowly, digging his fingers into his palms, resisting the impulse to reach for her.

"What?" he asked.

"No, nothing. I just need to um, change Carl. I'll be back in a few minutes." Michonne lifted their son onto her hip and disappeared down the hallway, around a corner, leaving him slightly confused by her cold reaction.

She'd pulled a one-eighty. Less than a minute ago she'd sat beside him, responsive, exuding warmth, understanding, a measure of solidarity. Now? She'd reverted to her earlier state of aloofness. So maybe he _didn't_ understand her at all. Rick scrubbed his hand over his face. Why is that not a surprise. When he thought about it, Rick hardly understood most women he'd dealt with. Which of course led him to his current predicament.

His phone rang, and Rick answered as he walked a little distance before leaning against the wall. "Negan."

" _Fratello._ Hey, it's us both, you're on speaker. We're just calling to let you know the deal's in the bag. A few revisions to the contract from our lawyers and California here we come."

Rick breathed a sigh of relief. "Finally. This was a big one, brother. You guys did good."

"You know me, I don't back down from a fight, not when I want something. Speaking of a fight, looks like Simon came through. He sent me his latest report on Madame Andrews, and, I gotta tell yuh, it's a doozy. Have you read it?"

 _Crap it._

Rick should've known that the rat would've gone ahead and contacted Negan, despite having his money already wired into his account.

"Not yet." Truth be told he himself hadn't looked at the faxed documents. Rather, Rick placed them in an envelope and tucked them away in his safe, for now. It didn't feel right. He thought he could do it—be as ruthless as his brothers in order not to be made a fool of again—but he couldn't. Not when his body refused to let go of the memory of how pleasurable her curved figure felt pressed comfortably against him, as he held her close on the dancefloor. Or how delicate her hand rested in his palm.

More than that, Michonne was just different from any other woman he'd had chemistry with. And Rick could admit that he wanted to trust her. In spite of the conflict which pervaded, as doubt spiked within his heart.

"Carl would get hurt," Rick pointed out. And so would she, and he was not comfortable with that anymore.

"What's changed?" Negan growled. "I know Shane moves fast, but don't tell me you're sleeping with her already."

Shane chuckled in the background.

"God, Negan," Rick sighed, irritated by his level of crudeness, "Have some class. It's not like that." No. He'd only kissed her. Which of course was not part of the plan. "I mean...I have gotten to know her better," he confessed. A bit of an understatement true, given his new acquaintance with the wet heat of her mouth, and the sweet softness of her lips. Together with the feel of her hands rummaging through his hair, she'd stirred in him a ridiculous and primitive energy to just claim her. Rick shook his head to knock loose the memory of his misbehavior. "Maybe we need to take a step back and re-evaluate how best to proceed. What's the rush?"

"So we get to keep her?" Shane asked, "Think I like that."

"Please, don't start," Negan scolded.

"Hey, I'm just saying brother. This could work out for me. If Rick doesn't want her, I don't mind getting my hands a little dirty, you know what I mean."

Rick felt a chill at the sly tone in Shane's comment. His brother really only saw women as playthings.

"Rick," Negan interjected, "The longer we wait the harder it will be for the both of them. You don't know anything. She's disturbed. She's a loner with a record and one too many secrets. Go home, read the report and then tonight we'll discuss whether or not a woman like _that_ should be kept in close proximity. To us. To your son. Shit bro, if Dad were alive…"

"Well, he's not," Rick cut him off. "So don't go there." Yet, in his mind he already did. If Nelson Grimes were alive, his father would've blazed his temper at him for this mess he was in.

"How's the little tiger by the way?" For the first time since the start of the conversation, Negan softened. "Sherry and I went a little crazy in _Fendi_ with their designer sweatshirts for kids. Even shopped online. He's not too young to start wearing suits, is he? He'll look damned adorable in Armani."

Rick took note of the pride in his brother's voice. It was no secret Negan wanted children of his own, but it didn't seem to be in the cards for him.

"He had a rough night," Rick confided, "We're at the pediatrician now, but seems as though he's better. He's gonna be fine."

"Oh. So I take it you'll be spending the day with him to make sure that he's good?"

"Yeah. Canceled my meetings."

"Good. Shane and I are flying in this morning and heading straight to the office. Appreciate you handling everything while we've been away, sealing this business."

"No need. Have a safe trip, and I'll see you tonight." Rick ended the call and shoved his cell into his pants pocket.

Glancing down the hallway, he was grateful Michonne hadn't returned in time to overhear any part of that discussion.

On the other hand, what was taking her so long? He ventured down the path she'd taken, and came to a halt once he turned the corner. Halfway down another corridor, he spotted her engaged in a conversation with some guy clad in green scrubs, unknown to Rick. From where he stood, Rick could just make out their conversation whilst remaining unseen.

"You do know there's no contest here, my guy picks people off the field," said the douchebag with cocky arrogance. "He's a surgeon, hands down the best quarterback I've ever seen."

"Yeah, but is he clutch?" Michonne shot back, "Right? If we're talking about Super Bowl Championships, _my_ dude consistently performs when the chips are on the line. Think about the Atlanta game a couple of years ago, when he made a sixty-yard pass to win the game, I mean come on, you better recognize." She chuckled, and her good-natured teasing caused the man to grin.

"Yeah, yeah. You women only like him cause he's pretty."

"Aww, now you sound a little bitter there, _and_ jealous. Trust me you don't need to be."

He raked his gaze over her form, appreciating her curves in her white jeans and burgundy blouse. He rest his arm over her head against the wall, leaning closer. "Is that so? Well does that mean I have a shot if I ask you out on a date sometime?"

Rather than give the guy the evil eye, which Rick himself had been on the receiving end of at least once before, she blushed. It both shocked and bothered him. And he had the oddest compulsion to march over and bury a hatchet in the dude's skull.

"You don't even know my name," she replied, soft and lighthearted.

"Wait, it isn't Beautiful?"

Michonne laughed.

Rick rolled his eyes and casually started towards them. Michonne didn't have a clue he'd been eavesdropping.

"So, how about it?" the man asked. "Are you free for dinner tonight?"

"No." It took two blasted seconds for Rick to sidle up behind her, placing a hand on her hip. "She'll be home, taking care of our son. Or don't you see the baby?"

The man threw Rick an uneasy glance which then slid into shock and embarrassment. "Oh! Oh wow, I guess I read this wrong." He straightened his posture and raised his hands, backing off. "Hey man, didn't mean to step on any toes, I just didn't see a ring and all so...my bad." The imp then scampered off without argument.

She rounded on him, slowly, her eyes tight, her lips pressed by frustration, giving him a deathly look of annoyance and incredulity. " _What_ was that?"

What was what? He almost replied, but thought better of it and held his tongue. He stepped closer but dropped his gaze as he relieved her of Carl's bag.

"Rick! Would you drop the act and quit playing with me?"

When he still didn't answer he heard her wail of exasperation and he braced for further reproach, as he knew he probably deserved. But to his surprise, there was none. Good. Now wasn't the time nor place.

Shane was right. The bastard knew him so well. Rick did want her. Right then he ached to simply touch her. And guess what? He did. By placing his hands on the round curves of her beautiful shoulders before slowly drifting downwards along her lean arms, guiding her to the front door. His heart pounded, her skin was so smooth and hot. He frowned. Why was she so hot? Her observation was spot on before. There'd been too many reports of people falling deathly ill. He scanned her face for further signs of sickness, and he was surprised to find her scanning him as well. He smiled. At least this time she's not flinching. Rick sucked in a breath and held it. He was more than interested in Michonne.

"Come on," he said, walking out, "I wanna take you to lunch."


	10. Torn

**Chapter 10:**

 **Torn**

"Thought we were going to eat? Where are we?"

"This is my place."

Rick held the elevator doors open, allowing Michonne and Carl to enter the cab before he pushed the button for the tenth floor. When the lift finally came to a stop, Rick inserted a special key into a security lock, entered his code, and stepped aside for them to exit the elevator entrance into the living room area.

He peeled off his denim jacket, rolled up his shirtsleeves, whilst watching Michonne thoughtfully scan his condo. It had the bare minimum, but it was comfortable enough. Before moving back home to the mansion, he was barely there in any case because many nights were in fact spent in his office. He even had a duffel bag beneath his desk, with a change of clothes. The company's gym on the ground floor provided the amenities to freshen up.

Rick peered inside his refrigerator. He always kept it fully stocked. "Sandwiches okay? That's my specialty. You and Carl are free to roam about, see the place while I throw something together."

Rick stood between the fridge and the kitchen island. Hands on hips, swaying from side to side, voice full of swagger to hide his nerves. Nerves yes. It was highly absurd. He could slap together bread and meat and vegetables with his eyes closed. But even pulling out the plates and cutlery felt awkward, as though he were struck with sudden arthritis, his wrist and fingers were stiff with jerky gestures. That was because Michonne stood on the opposite side gazing at him.

She shuffled towards the wicker sofa now, clutching Carl's hand as his head swung left and right, absorbing the new surroundings. The three-bedroom residence was very casual in its decor: buttercup walls, a light gray tiled floor, with white wicker furnishings that gave the place a beachy look. A stark contrast to the lavish mansion he'd, for most of his life, called home.

Together they set their meals on the black, wrought-iron patio set outside on the balcony. The mid-day Seabreeze was cool as it licked against Rick's skin, giving him a sense of tranquility

"Suppose I wanted chicken? Or tuna?" Michonne asked, inspecting the results of his culinary skills.

Rick placed three bottles of water down on top of the ornate table. "Unless I'm mistaken, you once specifically mentioned having a preference for turkey, did you not?"

"I can make my own choices."

He did a mental pause. Was she messing with him? Or... "And me feeding you is preventing you from doing that?"

She went quiet, settling Carl into the white padded seat to her right.

Okay, apparently not. "What? Think I'm being presumptuous, is that it?" Rick pulled out the chair opposite her. "Next time I won't be, alright? Happy? You simply could've said something before, just trying to take care of my… of you guys, is all."

They began eating without another word. After her second bite, Rick watched as she closed her eyes, relishing his tasty southwestern club sandwich.

"You enjoying that?" he teased.

"Mmhm." She licked her lips, then wiped her mouth with the napkin. "Thank you. This is outstanding. Really. And… I'm sorry, for being a bit much just now. I have to admit, it's hard to just let someone else take the lead sometimes. Honestly, I'm surprised I've allowed you so much control in my life. It's disconcerting, to say the least."

"Stop saying that," he blurted abruptly.

"What?"

"That I'm controlling. Don't think of me that way. I'm not that bad."

She arched her brow. "Dude, seriously?"

"Things between us haven't been horrible, right? We haven't thrown any punches thus far. I mean, I know that you like me, so…"

She groaned. "Oh god, please no." The heel of her palm pressed to her forehead as though an instant migraine was looming. A migraine caused by him?

Rick took a gulp of his drink as he thought back to the events of last night, and how she had the same reaction. Seemed to be a pattern.

"Don't even go there. I told you that… that," she stammered, unable to bring herself to say it.

"Kiss?" he supplied with glee.

She looked up. Her eyes grew to the size of saucers. To be honest, any larger and they were liable to pop out. "It was an isolated incident," she hissed. "Never to be repeated. Please, don't bring it up again."

Rick bristled with disappointment. Still, he couldn't help but break out into a grin. "You said you liked it."

She waved her hand dismissively. "I don't recall uttering those words."

Despite her strong reaction to the encounter, he threw his head back and laughed, hard and uncontrollable. "Okay. If you wanna play that game, I'll let it go… for now. But, with regards to what you said at first, may I be honest with you?"

"Always, I hope."

He fiddled with his napkin and nodded. "For me, when I see something that needs to be done, I don't hesitate about it. I just do it. I get it done. If that comes across as me being controlling, then…" he shrugged, "I can't help that."

"Have you ever tried? Or is diplomacy not a word in your vocabulary?"

He cleared his throat and lowered his gaze. "Fine," he said, feeling contrite. Plans already formulating in his head on how to make it up to her. "Guess I should just apologize then. I promise to try to be... better. To be diplomatic."

She bit her lower lip and glanced away. Focusing on breaking a piece of Carl's bread and feeding him.

This hangup that she had, maybe, Rick wondered, it was her way of protecting herself. Maybe once before, years ago, she'd trusted someone with a great measure of influence in her life, and that someone hurt her. Leaving her with thin scars over deeply embedded wounds.

"But sometimes," he whispered, hedging with caution, "Sometimes it's okay to let someone else take the lead. It doesn't in any way lessen your capability as an independent woman. Trust me, I see it. Clear as day, I know you're not a woman to trifle with."

Her eyes narrowed. "Mmm. Don't you forget it."

Throughout the rest of their meal together, he took note of everything she did, captivated by how graceful she looked under the direct sunlight, with her easy-going mannerisms. How she crossed her legs, clasped both hands over her knee and grinned, all teeth, perfect and white. How she dipped her head, peered up at him through her curled lashes. How she waved both hands and shook her head repeating _'No wait, no wait, no wait.'_ or ' _Okay, okay, okay,'_ to make a point. And the simple way she knew how to use her body. By the end of their meal, they'd managed to set themselves back onto the comfortable path of friendship.

¥###¥

With Carl standing on the guest bed, Michonne lifted his small arms and removed his sticky sweatshirt, soiled with juice, mustard, and spit. "Can I ask you something?"

"Can you?" Rick smirked, as he rifled through the baby bag.

She rolled her eyes. " _May_ I ask you something?"

He smiled and handed her a clean change of clothes. "Shoot."

"How come you're the only one who has a separate place? Your brothers, your Mom, you all are pretty close."

"I just do. That's normal, isn't it? For children to move out on their own? Be independent."

"Yeah, but at the mansion, it' so huge. Other than the regular meals, you're not really in each other's way. You have your own space."

"Well they're there at the office too, and… I mean," He shook his head knowing she probably wouldn't understand. "I just like peace and quiet. They can be overbearing when they want to, in case you haven't noticed." He's surprised he admitted that much to her. He's never confessed being irritated with his family to anyone before. "Here I get to keep to myself. Not even sure who my actual neighbors are. With the exception of Mrs. Elton in 3E."

She stuffed Carl's head through his _Mighty Mouse_ t-shirt. "Who's that?"

"A widow I met one time handing out flyers in the parking lot for Tybee Island's Veteran's day celebration. Got an uncle, on my Dad's side, who is a retired soldier so we got to talking. She's great. Got the most mischievous 5-year-old daughter I've ever met, Regine. Also the most precocious. She already knows she wants to travel the world. France in particular for some reason. Whenever I fly overseas, I make sure to bring her back a memento for her collection."

"You've got a fondness for kids," Michonne said. It wasn't a question.

He smoothed his hand over Carl's disheveled hair. "Doesn't everyone?"

Her smile faded, expression settling into a grave frown and her eyes grew hard for a brief second. "No, not everyone."

He nodded, perceiving that he was getting something from her, a sliver of something personal. And he wasn't sure that if he pushed, she'd surrender more. Before he got the chance to, however, her posture loosened again and she fired off another question.

"Your father, how did he die?"

"Jet ski accident eight years ago. In the Caribbean on a "business trip.""

Michonne quirked her brow at his air quotes.

"There's no Romano-Grimes store on the island of Tobago," he explained, in as little words as possible. Still, she understood.

"Oh. You're not saying…"

"Yeah, let's just leave it at that. That's my mom's version anyhow. She married him when she was twenty, remained loyal down to the end and beyond." He slipped the strap of the bag onto his shoulder. "Ready to go home?"

"First let me do the dishes."

"No, you're my guest."

"You cooked. I wash."

Rick shook his head, replacing the bag onto the bed. "If you insist then I'll help."

Realizing that he wasn't about to back down, she yielded.

Given his freedom, Carl went scampering out the room as soon as his bare feet touched the ground. Rick and Michonne followed, keeping an eye on the toddler, shortly, they found themselves side by side at the sink.

"Have you thought about living anywhere else other than Savannah?"

Rick met Michonne's gaze. He stood too close. His arm brushed the back of her shoulder. "No, I don't mind staying in the Peach State. My family's here. You?"

"Maybe the Golden State, if I really had to choose. Love the coast, even though I haven't been much, which is odd. Think it has to do with my favorite memory of my birth mother." A wistful smile tugged at her mouth. "We'd spent an entire day at Long Beach. My sister, Shada, and I were eating cotton candy whilst Mom attempted to make a mermaid in the sand because we begged her to. But she was a lost cause. More looked like a whale, somehow."

In her file, he'd read about her being a New York native but moved to Georgia with her family when she was only seven. The tragic accident that made her an orphan occurred less than a year later. The pain must've been unimaginable.

He picked up the liquid detergent. "What was she like, your Mom?"

"Don't really remember. Sadly everything is almost a complete blank. If that makes any sense." She turned on the faucet and collected a plate. "What I do know is that she was an actress, mainly plays, loved the bright lights of the city, but detested the snow." She shrugged. "That's it. That's all I know. Favorite color; favorite food; favorite books... nothing. I remember none of it.

"Have you ever considered hiring an investigator?"

"What would be the purpose in doing that? She's dead."

"Knowing where you came from— your heritage—could fill a void."

"Void?" Giving him a look that clearly meant, _'What the fuck are you talking about?'_ she sighed, "The past is in the past, Rick. I mean I get it though. I understand where _you're_ coming from having strong ties to your own family and all, but not everyone wants that. And just because you snooped into my background doesn't mean you know me either. Okay?" She picked up the sponge and held it out, signaling him to pour the soap on it. "You don't have a clue."

He hesitated. She avoided his gaze.

He was dredging up sunken pain and she fought against it. A hollowness took his breath away and immediately he regretted the thoughtless words that rolled passed his lips. Setting the bottle down again, he reached up and brushed his thumb against her soft cheek as he felt an urge to comfort her.

She sucked in a breath and froze.

"What if I do?" he asked. "What if I do want to know you? The real you. Not some random notes in a file. What would you say to that?" His gaze darted towards her lips. Looking back up, he found her staring at his mouth in return with a distinct longing and Rick knew, without a doubt, that she felt the same fist of desire that slammed into his chest every time he was near her. At the moment, she seemed to be contemplating the repercussions of leaning in for a curious second.

Unfortunately, though, she turned her face and pulled away, resuming the dishes.

Rick dropped his hand to his side. "What do you want, Michonne?"

"We're going to be raising Carl together, right?"

"That's what I want, yes."

"That's what I want too."

He hooked her chin and redirected her attention towards him. "What I meant was, what do you want for yourself?"

She didn't move. Her eyes flickered back and forth between his with a touch of apprehension.

He released her. His throat felt like sandpaper. Maybe he should hold off and pull back. But if he did, how long could he deny the many ways in which she was special; how she'd call him out in one moment, then had him laughing his head off in the next; how a charge would slice through his stomach whenever she'd roll back her petite shoulders, bold and unafraid, to challenge him; most importantly, how she was entirely devoted to a child she didn't plan for and was neither her flesh and blood.

Rick slid his fingers over her soapy hands and watched as her eyes fell closed for a moment. "Okay, hear me out. Let me tell you what it is that I want. I have an offer. You can take it, or you can leave it. But the choice is yours, I won't put you under any pressure."

"What… what kind of an offer?"

"Outside of my brothers, my mother, I don't have many people in my life. For the simple reason of being too busy. I don't have the time to build relationships, nothing meaningful anyway." And everyone's got ulterior motives, but he kept that part to himself.

"You make time for what's important," she countered, "You prioritize."

"I'm trying. I'm not at the office at this moment, now am I?"

She gave a thoughtful glance to Carl. "No, you're not.

"No, I'm not. Listen, I have financial success, now I have Carl; he's my gift, my legacy, but I want more." He gently removed the wet plate from her clutch and turned off the faucet. That hum of chemistry lured him nearer and he confessed, "I want you."

Her gaze shot up to his. "Ex-Excuse me?"

"Think you want me too. Feel differently about that?"

Her eyes plunged to his hands holding hers. "I uh… I just..."

Rick could see the pulse at her neck quickening with nerves, responding to him with matched excitement. Warmth spread throughout his stomach and ballooned into his chest. If this stubborn woman denied her attraction, he had no choice but to be patient; he wouldn't just relent.

A squeal of frustration erupted from Carl stealing their attention. He'd pitched his stuffed rabbit beneath the center table and he could barely reach it.

Michonne turned but Rick blocked her with his thigh against hers.

"He'll figure it out," he said.

And Carl did, by scrunching his tiny body into an awkward position, shifting himself closer to the toy till he got it into his grasp. Carl then slid back out, stood up, and waddled towards the television plopping himself in front of the flat screen to watch the cartoons they'd put on for him to watch.

When he grew silent again, Rick heard Michonne release the breath she'd been holding.

"What exactly do you mean?" she whispered.

He reached for the kitchen towel and proceeded to dry her hands. "Think you know what I mean." Tossing the linen to the countertop, he leaned closer taking in her scent of cinnamon, sending sparks of delight up and down his spine.

"How is that a good idea? I mean I'm not… I don't want…"

"Don't you? We're adults. Be honest." He cupped her neck and her eyes widened in surprise by his continuous blatant refusal to adhere to her no touching rule. "Have dinner with me tomorrow night."

He felt her swallow, felt her shaky breaths as she looked at him perplexed by his insistence. "No Rick. I can't. I won't."

"You can't, you won't, you don't want, you're not," he sighed, "That's a lot of no's coming out of that pretty mouth." Which he ached to taste again. Immediately the magnificent kiss they'd shared replayed in his mind. "But I think you will."

Her expression steeled.

Rick braced his body for impact. A knee to his groin, a punch to his gut. Something painful was coming.

But no. They stood there in silence, assessing each other.

He took her lack of resistance as an invitation and proceeded to caress her apple cheeks.

Her hands flew to his wrists and now she did stiffen a little, but still, she made no effort to draw back or to push him off. Again her gaze dropped to his mouth with heated interest. "I won't be your plaything."

"So just be mine." He shouldn't hold like her that, he knew he needed to stay focused, he needed to back the hell up before it's too late. But dammit, there's something irritatingly irresistible about her that had his body screaming.

Carl suddenly appeared tugging on his mother's leg, rubbing his droopy eyes raw.

She lowered herself, lifted him up, guiding his sleepy head to her shoulder.

Rick's eyes roamed her features once more before settling on her lips. They're slightly parted, her breaths coming out short and ragged and Rick decided, _'fuck it'_ , what would it hurt to take just one more taste.

If she slapped him, so be it.

* * *

Michonne couldn't believe it. Here she was, kissing Rick Grimes. Again. When had she become so weak? Less than 24 hours ago they'd, okay _she'd_ vowed to keep their relationship professional. The moment he positioned his lips on hers, instead of drawing away, she submitted to him, and goosebumps sprang up all over her flesh. If she felt herself lost before from gazing at him, now her sense of self, place, and time simply evaporated. Melted away into nothing until all that existed was him, her, and little Carl nestled between them. It was perfect.

She kissed him back. It was chaste. Sweet. Tender. Placing her hand behind his neck. His skin was so warm beneath her fingertips. His mouth so soft, yet so inviting, he made her feel alive. She wanted him. All of him. Badly.

But the truth was, he wasn't hers to have, now was he?

She pulled away, shame and guilt slamming into her like a reckoning. He moaned his displeasure as though breaking the kiss hurt him in some physical way. She clutched her chest because damn, she felt something too. It didn't mean it was right though, was it.

He reached for her hips but she stepped back, suddenly terrified of his allure. "I'm tired. I need to put Carl to rest."

"Stay." He gestured to one of the guest bedrooms.

She nodded. Even though she did want to stay, she said, "Prefer to go." And she prayed to god he wouldn't choose this moment to challenge her. "There's also somewhere I have to be this afternoon. I'd like to get my car if that's alright? I'd had it mind from before."

"Okay. But you didn't have to ask."

"I know, it's just you won't let me drive. I'm being chauffeured around everywhere because you want to keep track of my movements." She forced out a chuckle.

Still, his brows dipped. "To keep you safe."

She stared at his earnest expression. Her nerves jangled. Flickering and buzzing as her brain went haywire.

Rick took a step back. "Let's talk more tonight, okay? Anytime. When you're ready, I'll be in my room."

¥###¥

Sasha Williams, Michonne's lawyer, was pacing the floor phone in hand, when Ms. William's secretary let her into the office.

"Tough day?" Michonne asked, when Sasha finally hung up, frustration written all over her face.

"They're all tough days." She straightened her peach-colored silk blouse and bronze pencil skirt before taking a seat at the edge of her desk. "But it's nothing I can't handle. So, from your call this morning, things sounded... urgent." She gestured with her hand for Michonne to take the chair across from her.

"I want to move forward."

"Move forward as in…"

"As in setting up an official meeting with Rick's lawyer. Tomorrow."

Sasha's head jerked back in surprise. "Tomorrow? I'm not done building our case yet. And as far as I know, Gregory hasn't even filed a petition. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

 _Except Rick's propositioned me and I'm losing my focus._

"Nothing?" She folded her arms. Her direct gaze indicated that the gears in her head were churning. "That means there's something. Spill it."

"I just want some semblance of normalcy again. So much is happening and I'm losing control."

"Aww honey, I hate to burst your bubble but normalcy, as you knew it, is long gone. The moment you decided you wanted Carl's father in his life. If it comes down to a custody battle, it could take months."

"I can't stay there for months Sasha."

"I know." She rose from her desk and took her seat behind it. After sifting through a pile of folders she eventually pulled one out, opening it. She leafed through the small stack of pages and stopped on the one she was interested in. "This bit here, about threats to the Grimes family, physical safety being a real issue, is great stuff."

Michonne sat forward in her seat. "What do you mean? I was just talking."

"What I mean is, if Carl's life could possibly come into harm's way with those people, it gives us another leg to do battle on. We have to play up to the better-parent standard if it comes down to that. We discussed this. He may want to take this child away from you."

She shook her head. "It doesn't seem that way to me."

"They're powerful people Michonne, don't forget what powerful people are capable of. But hey, we're getting ahead of ourselves. Like I said, your paperwork, your records—financial and medical—are all still being put together. That takes time. Also, I want to get the best judge in our favor, and it could take anywhere from three weeks to a month between filing a petition to our first appearance, then another month for a second appearance…" she huffed in annoyance. "Anyway, first things first, let me set up that meeting you're requesting and see where Rick's head is at."

Michonne breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me as yet, it won't be until I get back. That phone call you walked in on, it's my brother. Family emergency, so I have to fly down to Florida to sort some things out."

Michonne sunk back into her chair, deflated. "How long?" Then she mentally slapped herself for being insensitive. "Wait, I mean, it's not serious is it?"

Sasha tilted her head and smiled. "Not life or death, no. But thanks. And I should be gone for... a week?" She shrugged. "When I get back I'll call you and we'll talk more. In the meantime, promise me you'll keep things amicable as much as it depends on you. Seriously, if we could avoid a drawn-out hearing, that'll be preferable. Trust me."

Michonne plastered on a smile. She trusted Sasha, it was herself she had doubts about.

Sasha reached into the candy jar she kept next to a framed photo on her desk and swiped out a mini snickers bar. "How are you otherwise?" she asked, offering the treat to Michonne. "How's the baby adjusting?"

"He's carefree. Spending the afternoon with his grandmother and dad."

"That's good." Sasha popped a starburst into her mouth. "And what about you, when last have you spoken to your family? To Maggie?"

She toyed with the chocolate in her hand. "Not since I first came out here and she gave me your number."

Sasha met her gaze.

Michonne shrugged, ignoring the dose of guilt that settled in her stomach. "She's got a full unpredictable schedule. It's hard to keep in touch." Not a lie. Not the whole truth either. Michonne simply was not one to keep in touch.

"Yeah, I suppose. You know the plan was for her to be here with me as a partner, but she bailed and got married, traveling all over the world being a do-gooder as an Aid worker, making me feel bad. Ugh. She's dead to me."

Michonne laughed. Maybe she should give her only other relative a call. If things with Rick go South, and Sasha's right about going to battle, she'll need Maggie's help. "I'll tell her you said 'hi.'"


	11. Trippin'

**Chapter 11:**

 **Trippin'**

It was close to midnight when Rick climbed out of his shower, dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist. Two minutes later, with a rumbling stomach, he'd dressed in dark grey sweatpants and walked out of his room heading downstairs to the kitchen.

At the end of the hall, the lights were off but movement from a shadowed silhouette caught his eye. When he peered closer he recognized it was Michonne closing her bedroom door.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

She approached him, stopping less than a foot away.

"Are you prowling, Rick Grimes?" she joked, grinning wide.

"What? No. Are you?"

She chuckled. "Mmhm. Sure. Thought it was time I find the family's...secret jewels." In the dimness, he could just about make out the devilish arch of her brow.

He smiled. "Never pegged you for the burglar type. Think you can find them?"

"They're hidden somewhere in this monolith," she said. "Aren't I dressed for the part?" She opened her arms displaying herself. With her hair bundled high on top of her head, she's clad in one of her knee-length satin robes. The blue or the white, in the darkness it was hard to tell.

Rick moved closer. "God knows what you've got on underneath."

She bit her lower lip and chained her arms across her chest.

He noticed something in her hand. "What's that?"

She held it up. "Baby monitor. Was just coming to see you."

He nodded and opened up his room, gesturing for her to step in.

At first, her eyes drifted from his face over his bare torso, then sprang back up to meet his gaze. She pulled up short just inside the threshold, gaping at him as he closed the door.

"Hey," he said.

Her gaze darted away and she cleared her throat. "Hey." She turned from him, glancing around at his space.

He did a quick check making sure nothing embarrassing was out in the open. Like dirty socks on the floor, or empty cookie wrappers on the sheets.

Her visit was genuinely unexpected. They were yet to further their discussion from the previous day and he'd decided to give her a week. But it took only a day and he was glad about that.

Rick followed as she moved further into his room. "Didn't know you were still awake. Had a hard time putting Carl down?"

"No," she said, taking a moment to study the black and white landscape paintings on his wall. "He's been out like a light for a while now. Just been up, working on some quotations Siddiq emailed me for two new clients. And waiting."

"Waiting?"

She gave him a pointed glance. "Yes, waiting."

He raised his brows in astonishment, she'd stayed up late for him. He grinned.

Rick liked how she quietly breezed through his room without his permission. It attested to the level of comfort they'd attained in their relationship. While she wandered around, he took the opportunity to appreciate the pronounced curves of her cheeks, the soft glow of her legs and the orange polish on her dainty toes which gave her a playful appearance.

She also looked regal, comfortable in his space. Like she belonged there. Gliding her fingertips along the panels of his dark-stained wooden walls. Perusing his personal items: framed photographs, knick-knacks from travels, jazz playlist opened on his iPad. Touching worn-out copies of his favorite novels: _Catch 22_ by Joseph Heller, _Gangs of New York_ by Herbert Asbury, and _The Bell Jar_ by Sylvia Plath.

Yes, that got her attention. She held up Plath's 'girly' book, giving him an arch look.

He shrugged. "Mental illness is fascinating to everyone, isn't it?"

"I guess," she murmured, returning it to the pile sitting on top of the vintage miniature dresser. "So...we need to talk." Her hands fidgeted with the cord of her robe. It was pink, by the way. He'd never seen that one before. "About your uh, offer…"

"Want something to drink?" he interrupted, pointing to his minibar in the corner of his room, to her left.

She glimpsed over and back at him before shaking her head. Her lips were pursed together. Her face tense.

Rick stared into her eyes for a moment. He could almost see the wheels turning as she struggled with whether this was the right thing to do or not. She walked past him over to the edge of his bed, tilting her head up to stare at his chandelier. The brass and gold light fixture was on the extravagant side he had to admit, with its five tiers looming directly over the center of his resting place. But his mother insisted it added the perfect touch to the masculine rustic/modern decor.

"This doesn't suit you," she said.

"No," he agreed, "It doesn't."

The night before, when he'd met with Negan, he didn't really know what to expect. But a quick glance at Michonne's file positively rattled him. The person in those papers was not the same woman he'd gotten to know over the past couple of weeks. The girl in that file had a rebellious nature, was deeply troubled and yes, a repeat offender.

Rick couldn't bring himself to scour the rest of the report. Repulsion laced through him. Not at Michonne's past, but at himself. For allowing his gaze to sweep over the private information in the first place. Even if it was for less than a minute. He simply handed it back to his brother then walked out.

Today at work he'd been distracted. Meetings were being conducted around him whilst he spent the time batting off intrusive thoughts. Thoughts about how he'd violated what little trust he'd built with Michonne. Thoughts about how he still desired her, wanting very badly to pursue an intimate relationship with her.

Late into the night, when he'd finally left the office, he was still plagued by feelings of conflict. On the one hand, he needed to come clean with Michonne. On the other, he'd preferred not doing so. It would be at the risk of evoking her contempt. And he'd deserve it of course, for being such an acute and utter dipshit.

In either case—confessing or withholding the truth—he'd end up hurting her.

It was inevitable.

First, however, he had to convince her that he cared for her.

Feeling that familiar pull to touch her, he came close behind her placing his hands tenderly on her arms. He whispered, "It's okay."

Her shoulders rose and fell with a sigh. She then shook her head. "You know, just because you want something, doesn't mean you should have it. Doesn't mean you need it."

Rick heard the caution in her tone. "It was very open-minded of you to move in here. I like that. You were willing to work things out with me. _Stay_ open-minded. I think this is a good thing too, I can feel it."

"How?"

"You intrigue me too much, that's how."

She faced him with a frown. "Rick...It wouldn't do any good to complicate matters."

"Do I scare you, is that it?"

"Oh please! You wish."

She tried to give the impression like she wasn't intimidated, but he saw through it and he didn't like it. He had to make her know it was unnecessary. He wished she would give a little, allow him to make her see the possibility.

He traced his finger from her cheek to her lips. "Have dinner with me, tomorrow night. This isn't about rushing into a mistake. Think if you hear what I have to say, it'll change your mind."

She turned her head and pressed her palms flat on his chest. More than likely feeling how fast his heart pumped with adrenaline. It was insane, the nervousness vibrating through his bloodstream.

His hands, in turn, traveled to her back, down the length of her spine, before resting at her waist. "Hey...thank you."

She looked up, brows furrowed, unsure of his meaning.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," he said, "I'm glad you did."

A million and one questions, responses, retorts all flickered through her expression, but she was yet to verbalize a single thought for some strange reason. He hoped it really wasn't because of fear. What could possibly hold back that sharp tongue of hers?

His attention shifted from her questioning eyes to where her hands boldly settled. Current passing through his skin to her cool fingertips. He breathed in and exhaled again when suddenly he felt her pulling away from him.

His muscles flexed on instinct. "Michonne wait. I...I thought waiting to discuss this over steak and wine would've been best, but maybe not. Maybe now is the right time."

"Right time? For what?" she asked, watching his expression.

He hesitated for a split second. Or more. He was stalling. The truth was, initially the primary concern was him doing the responsible thing and taking charge of his son's life, whilst also safeguarding himself. Still, that was no excuse for his deplorable actions, now was it?

He accepted the fact that it was going to be difficult—admitting his dishonest intentions.

But despite that, he knew he shouldn't back down. No. Despite feeling restless and angry and disappointed in himself, he was willing to face the unsightly situation and the probable fallout, head on. He didn't know how he was going to get it done, but he'd get it done. He'd make it work.

Somehow.

The question really was _when_.

Rick cleared his throat.

"Tonight, I met with my attorney. Told him to go ahead and arrange with Ms. Williams, to set up a meeting at her earliest convenience so we could proceed forward drawing up an agreement. One that you'll approve of."

She was gazing calmly at him. It was bewildering. She seemed to be able to stare straight through into his mind and Rick felt that at any moment, in a sudden burst of emotion and realization, she was going to rebuke him.

"Why?"

"Beg your pardon?" Rick asked, confused.

"Why so sudden? Why just like that?"

"Well… I meant what I said. I want this to work. For all of us." More than mere physical attraction, Rick wanted to make Michonne happy. "Thought you'd be relieved. Would you rather I didn't?"

"I'd rather not be put through the wringer to begin with. Treated as a suspect for the past two weeks, made to walk on eggshells. But, if you're certain about doing this, about sharing custody then...I guess I'm quite surprised. I should be...relieved," she said, tentatively.

Rick felt coiling in his stomach. In need of some bourbon. Fresh air.

"I-I don't know what to say."

"Say yes." He drew her hips toward his. "To everything."

She glanced away, her brows furrowed in contemplation. "Yes," she said quietly.

His head dipped and he nudged her chin with the side of his face. Gaining access to her neck, he deposited a light kiss against her silky skin and felt the tremor at her pulse. His stomach lurched with primal satisfaction at drawing such a reaction from her. She turned to him and the heat from her breath met and mingled with his as she caught his mouth.

A sharp puncture in his chest threatened to topple him over.

He pulled back, lowered his gaze and tugged on her knot. He wanted it undone.

She complied, thankfully, loosening the tie of the robe herself. And she took her time with it.

His arms slipped inside, circling her waist. A warm cinnamon scent burst forth and ensconced him. Her heated body was petite. Yet strong. Yet feminine. He bent forward, tilting his head so that his lips could comfortably fit against hers once more. The contact invited easy contentment with a blaze of excitement on its tail. Leaning further down, he kissed her throat, pressed his tongue to her skin, tasting it.

"It's been a while," she sighed.

He looked up, his eyes thoroughly scanning her features. The curl of her lashes, the evenness of her skin, the plushness of her mouth. And the anxiety that tainted it all. It occurred to him only then, that for her, the last couple of years must have been a whirlwind of change; the heartache, the loss, the sacrifices. With this understanding, his need to be with her took on a deeper meaning. He squeezed her in his arms and lifted her onto his bed.

Her gasp burst out, though she tried to restrain it.

His eyes pinned her in place, as he aligned his body with hers. With the seconds that marched by, he savored the vision of her parted lips, the scent of her glowing skin, and the softness of her thighs at his fingertips. She cracked a smile, and her beauty unhinged his senses. He crawled over her, possessive, eager to explore but keeping a fist on his desire. This wouldn't be like the first kiss. Reckless. No. Looking down at her, his brain quickly listed all the ways he could make this woman delirious from his touch.

"I'll take care of you," he murmured, and he meant it. He'd take his precious time, he'd cherish it.

Come the next day, chances were she'd go back to pretending.

* * *

Consciousness seeped into Michonne's slumbering mind forcing her to awaken. The instant her eyes slit open and the distinctly male room sharpened into view, she had no choice but to acknowledge that her judgment faltered.

It was supposed to be a straightforward conversation.

All Michonne wanted was to have an honest talk with Rick, to reason with him about his ludicrous proposition.

But somehow, at some point, she'd changed her mind? Ugh, what the hell happened? This was so unlike her.

Did it have to do with the fact he'd happened to step out of his room without a shirt on, wearing only a pair of dark pajamas which hung seductively low on his hips, making him look like a snack? Or was it his hair, soaking wet, dripping around his ears, and down his neck? Whatever it was, Michonne barely kept a level head. All common sense skedaddled out the door.

 _And then some._

From the instant his arms slid around her waist, pulling her against his warm naked chest, she trembled everywhere. Exhilarated and scared. She was so torn. This thing between them, she didn't want it, but every nerve fiber of her body screamed at his touch. At his crisp clean scent.

He had been so gentle, so meticulous, he'd touched her as though she were a fragile piece of art and she wanted to implode. He'd run his hands up and down her body; her neck, breasts, stomach, her legs. Goddammit, then his lips followed. Covering every inch of her skin. Toying with her making her tingle in her sensitive areas. To be honest, she'd just about lost her mind.

The chemical reaction between them was inexplicable. For long moments afterward, her head was still spinning. When was the last time being that close to someone set her bones on fire, if ever?

But somehow he knew she wasn't ready to go any further.

He let her fall asleep cradled in his arms.

Now, at three in the morning, she tried her damnedest to sneak out of his room and retreat to hers as quickly as possible. She'd managed to wiggle away and sit up right at the edge of his bed.

But then Rick's arm slipped around her waist, hauling her back. His lips were at her ear but he said nothing. His breath, however, wrapped around her like warm silk. Damn. She shouldn't melt into him, she shouldn't be stupid for one moment longer. And yet...

Her eyes closed, she turned and touched their foreheads together.

He fisted the back of her top.

"Carl isn't up yet," he said, his voice hoarse, graveled, so damned sexy and tempting. "Come back to bed."

She resisted. She didn't want to go back to his bed. The mere suggestion was enough to set off a churning in her abdomen. The muscles tightening and contracting forcing her to clasp her hands.

"No," she said.

"I still want you."

"No."

"You still want me."

"No." His self-assuredness sent a thrill straight through, down to her core. And she almost allowed herself to be drawn in once more by this man. Instead, she sighed with resignation, forced her desire back into its cage and pushed him off. "No. I don't. This is crazy."

And then, with a wicked grin, he tickled her ribs. She gasped and giggled and gasped...because really, that was a dirty trick. But she kept moving away from him. She needed to take this _thing_ —she couldn't begin to label it—between them, one step at a time.

"Suit yourself," he said, looking up at her. "You know you're gonna have a hard time falling asleep, knowing that you've left me here by my lonesome."

She studied his perfectly toned chest, wanting to sink her teeth into him...again. Because yeah, she did that, she put her mouth on him and knew how good he can taste and seriously, she wanted to do it again. But she shouldn't, at least not now. She's thirty years old and she's supposed to have some goddamn self-control.

 _Girl, just get out._

"I won't." Clinging to her lie like a life raft, she reached for her robe splayed on the floor and without glancing behind, she left.

Once she reached her door and stopped outside, she realized she'd forgotten the baby monitor. Pressing her ear to the panels to be sure Carl was still sleeping, maybe she could slip in without any disturbance.

"It has begun."

Michonne jumped and spun around. The lights in the hall switched on and she found herself face to face with an angry Negan. She groaned. "Excuse me?"

"You think you got this shit on lock, don't you?" he said in a harsh whisper. "The baby is his and now you've seduced your way into his bed."

"Let me guess, you don't approve."

"He won't marry you! You're not the marrying type."

Michonne tilted her head to the side. "Oh! And Sherry is?"

"Sherry is a good girl. She does what she's told. She knows the rules. You? You're a spitfire. And you're too cunning for your own good. You'll have my brother wrapped around your finger so tight, and he'll feel like he's the luckiest man in the world."

It wasn't so much as her being with Carl that was problematic for this man, it was her being with Rick. " _This_ is none of your business Negan, but let me reassure you I'm not looking to marry anyone, including your brother."

"You're damn right about that because I won't let it happen. He's my family and I protect what's mine."

She stepped over to him. Out of the three brothers, Negan was by far the tallest and Michonne, at only 5ft. 6, craned her neck to glare at him. "What is it that you want from me?"

Negan looked her over, disconcerted by her unwillingness to be intimidated. "Well little lady, I want you to sign over full parental rights."

"Fuck. You."

"It's either that or that god-forsaken, drawn-out process of adoption to get my brother's name on Carl's birth paper."

"And what about me? You plan on getting rid of me as soon as the ink hits the paper?"

He paused, folding his arms. "We could do a separate contract."

"A contract? To raise my own son? How noble!"

"You are not his mother! You're just the nanny."

"What?" Her chest constricted. "You're trash, you know that?" She turned away dismissing him and stomped off, but he grabbed her arm, wrenching her back.

Michonne didn't realize what she was doing until after it was done. After she heard the thwack and felt the pain. After she saw Negan's head snap to the side and the red split in his lip. That's when she realized she'd slammed her fist into his face.

Negan laughed with derision. "Atta girl! That's gonna cost you. Big time. Looks like that report got it right. You are one unstable bitch!"

Michonne drew back preparing to swing again, and a sound exploded into the hallway. In the next moment, she was pushed aside. Rapid-fire Italian came from all directions. Sherry, Veronica, and Shane bolted down the hallway toward them. And Michonne couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"What do you think you're doing, Negan?" Rick demanded. He shoved Negan's back against the wall, but his brother didn't retaliate.

Negan raised a hand above his head and with the other, he wiped a bit of blood off the corner of his upper lip. "Aw come on. She's trying to secure her future by jumping in your bed. She's nothing more than a floozy."

Before Negan could say more, Rick landed a punch across Negan's cheek. "Shut up! You shut your mouth. That is the mother of my child have some goddamn respect."

Shane threw his arm around Rick's shoulders, restraining him. "Alright, alright. Easy."

Negan's eyes hardened, his breathing heavy. "She's not right for you _fratello._ You got on the cocoa train so you can't see it. Now you think you know better than me. But you don't."

Rick shoved Shane away, pointing a finger in his big brother's face. "You're overstepping your bounds. This time I'll forgive you because you're my brother, but don't think I won't knock your teeth in if you step out of line with Michonne again. Got that?"

Michonne tried to intervene, but Veronica stopped her.

"No," the older woman said. "You don't come between brothers."

Michonne narrowed her eyes at her. Dang, was anyone sane in this family? Growing up, the Andrews maintained a peaceful household with three teenage girls. Sure her and Lori would brawl from time to time but nothing like this. This was too much drama for Michonne to handle.

Carl suddenly cried out and she was grateful for the opportunity to escape the chaos. As she rushed inside to tend to her child, it couldn't be more apparent that she'd made a huge mistake by agreeing to live with these strangers.

"I can't believe you just slugged my brother."

Scooping her baby out from his crib, she hadn't even realized that Rick followed her in.

"I can't believe you don't every third day of the week," she said. "He's a jackass!"

Michonne rocked Carl back and forth in an effort to soothe him, but her own emotions were threatening to choke her, and she compelled herself to will them to subside.

"Think you should do that?" Rick asked, trying to take Carl from her arms. "You shouldn't hold him when you're upset."

But she wouldn't release him, tightening her grip. "I don't need you to tell me how to take care of my son."

"He's my son too. How convenient you keep forgetting that. Look, he won't calm down if you're agitated."

Michonne felt her body shake, like a bomb about to explode. "I can't do this with you right now Rick. I can't. This family is clearly out to get me, I mean, what did Negan even mean when he said I was unstable? Why? Why would he say that?"

Rick decided right then to pull back. If it's her stubbornness or her fury, he didn't say. He simply said nothing at all. Instead, he retreated to the bathroom, which served to confuse her even more.

After a moment's silence, she heard water gushing from the tap.

"Rick?" With Carl drifting back to sleep on her shoulder, she moved to the doorway and stood behind the man who tried to defend her 'honor.'

He was allowing the liquid to run over his bruised knuckles.

"Put Carl down," he said, heavily. "Then we'll talk. After."

She stared at his reflection while he grabbed the hand towel, soaking it. His expression was frighteningly grave.

"Sure," she complied. Her ire simmering down just below the surface.

It took another minute before she returned Carl to his bed. Rick took hold of her hands, inspecting them, then he wrapped her right one with the towel.

She hadn't noticed the swelling.

"Negan's got a guy who's very efficient," he told her. "We wanted to know all there is to know about you and... I'm sorry but he went too far."

"What?" She swallowed against the lump in her throat. "How far?"

"Too far. Like a dog with a bone. He hunted down old neighbors, classmates, teachers. Dug up school records, police records...medical…"

And there it was. He let that one hang in the air between them.

She snatched her hand away from him, suddenly disgusted with his touch. "For what purpose? To prove I'm unfit? To destroy me?"

God! She could not believe what she was hearing. She had had it up to here with him and his brothers' arrogance. What gave them the right to act as though they had real insight into what she went through as a teenage girl?

"Well," she bit out, "don't stop there, Saint Rick. What else did you dig up from my past?"

He sat on the edge of her bed.

Michonne didn't. She promptly crossed the room, positioning herself by the window, getting as far away from him as possible.

"What do you know?" she asked again quietly. "That I saw a therapist? So what? I was seventeen."

"You saw three different therapists, over a period of five years. Court mandated after you ran away from home, for the fourth time, for two months, before you were found miles away in Macon."

She was shocked he would stoop to this. That he would dig deep into her personal life without her consent, with the sole intention of using it against her and to benefit himself.

Emotional blackmail?

Had he uncovered her biggest regret as well?

Rick cupped his hand over his forehead. "You don't owe me any kind of explanation, but—"

"You're right, I don't. I don't have to talk to you about anything that doesn't concern Carl. Whatever I went through is my personal business. How dare you? People make mistakes in their life and you Rick Grimes, are no different. The difference between us is that I've dealt with my problems and I've moved on. Clearly, you haven't."

What did the rest of Negan's report even say, she wondered. Did it explain why she'd left home in the first place? Or why she'd been forced into endless hours of therapy?

Michonne preferred to think that access to something so confidential was not possible. Rick couldn't know it was because she'd spiraled into a deep, trance-like depression. She hoped he didn't have a clue it was triggered by her having an abortion. An illegal one without her parents' knowledge or permission. And that the man who pretended to be her relative, who took her to an out-of-state clinic, was the same man who had gotten her pregnant.

And because he was twice her age, and because he was married, and because he wasn't really her uncle but her damned Art teacher, she was forced to keep it a secret.

Of course not, no one knew about that.

No one could know what they'd done, Jason said. Besides who would believe _her_ over him?

Michonne paced the room while Rick tracked her movement.

It hit her so fast. All the pain and the memories, all of it rushing in at the same moment.

When Jason had stopped answering her calls, and secretly applied for a transfer so that he could move out of town, the abandonment tore her apart.

She couldn't accept it. The man she'd adored rejected their little one. And as if that wasn't enough, he, without warning, no longer wanted her as well.

It was the worst feeling in the world.

Devastated, and infinitely hurt by his betrayal, she went after him.

In the middle of one night, after she'd tracked him down, Michonne packed a bag, readying to leave with a half-assed plan. When Lori whispered, from across their room, not to do it, Michonne simply told her to fuck off, to mind her own damned business, and she'd left.

Her reunion with Jason was not what she expected. There was no contrite apology from his beautiful lips. Those same lips had introduced her to the sensual pleasures of womanhood.

When she found him, he'd flew into a rage. Those lips berated her.

Those lips called the cops to arrest her.

Yes, she'd wreaked havoc on his precious car, but God knows the son-of-a-bitch deserved it. She'd spent months fantasizing about carving _'mother fucking liar'_ across his too-handsome face.

After letting her spend a night in a jail cell. The police phoned the Andrews and they came a few hours later to take her back home again.

It wasn't the first time.

She knew the drill.

Was any of that in Rick's secret report?

And if it was, did it mean he thought she was unsavory to be his son's mother?

Maybe.

She stood before him and he looked up. "You said you saw your lawyer last night, well I went to see my lawyer yesterday too. And she warned me about how ruthless you people could be, but I...I didn't want to believe that about you."

"I know."

"You know? What is it that you know?"

There's was a moment's hesitation. Then he admitted, "That you saw your lawyer yesterday. Our private investigators had your phone tapped."

Michonne cracked a slap across his face. Two for two. She was on a roll. "You son-of-a-bitch," she hissed.

"Yeah...I deserved that."

"No. More. You deserve so much more and worse. Rick, all this time? How could you?"

"Believe me I know. There's no excuse. Blatant invasion of your privacy, there's just no excuse for that and I shouldn't have consented." He rubbed his palm against his reddening cheek. "I wanted… I wanted to tell you everything. Just was waiting for the right time. Should have been upfront with you from the very beginning."

"You should have."

"It was wrong. I see that clearly now."

"Not to mention illegal. You know I could use this deception against you in a court of law."

Rick looked at her. He really looked at her. He was quiet. And then he said. "You could." But his wary expression said that he hoped that she wouldn't. "I. Am. Sorry. Please Michonne, please believe that. I accept full responsibility. I'm willing to make a change, I am willing to make things right. Tell me what to do and I'll do it, just don't do anything drastic. It may seem difficult right now, but I think we can get past this."

"You think?"

"I know."

"Well, I don't." Suddenly overwhelmed, Michonne dug her fingers into her flesh, struggling to stay strong. "I'm filled with so much regret right now."

She saw alarm register on his expression at the hurt in her voice, but she didn't care.

She walked to the door and held it open for him. "Get out." She was done with this conversation.

As he exited into the hallway, she wished she could be done with it all.


	12. Cranes in the sky

**Chapter 12:**

 **Cranes in the sky**

Michonne was never an individual to give herself over to any singular belief.

Is there a God? Yes.

Is he, or she, in control of her life's events? Maybe, maybe not.

Is the universe steering her down her chosen path? Again Michonne couldn't formulate a proper response to that notion.

However, she did perceive and accept that there's a time in everyone's life where a major event splits their existence into two.

An event that forms a 'before' and 'after.'

The experience is so dramatic that the very essence of who you are becomes molded into something else.

Understandably, most people would assume that for Michonne, her watershed moment was the night she was severed from her only flesh and blood—when she became an orphan.

But it wasn't.

It was when she became a mom. Carl's mom. Within her own mind and heart, she knew she'd been forever altered when she took on that new prodigious role in her life. There's a clear distinction in her mind of who she was before motherhood, and who she was now.

Lori gifted her with the responsibility of caring for his precious tiny life, and within a year Michonne honestly couldn't help but feel she was already messing it up.

"Is everything alright Ma'am?"

Slowing to a stop at the end of the driveway, Michonne smiled absently at the blonde, stick-like security guard, holding his post at the mansion's front gate.

"Off early for work today," he commented, rather than asked. His gaze swept back and forth between her and Carl, who was wide awake and babbling in his car seat.

"Um, no," she replied truthfully. "Only need to make a run to the drugstore. Should be back in say...fifteen minutes?"

With a nod of his head, the dutiful officer allowed her to exit the estate without further interrogation.

She drove around for an hour. It was unintentional at first.

She did visit the nearest CVS for formula and snacks. But afterward, she filled her tank at the gas station, then stopped for a solid breakfast of ham and eggs on wheat to share with Carl at a deli. Next thing she knew, instead of heading east, she drove west, and found herself in Bradley Pointe, opening up the door to her apartment.

Once inside, she set Carl down with his stuffed rabbit, a pack of crackers, and a box of juice. Looking around at her place, Michonne still felt unsettled. She peeled off her jacket, kicked off her shoes and unbidden, started a light cleaning. Which of course turned into a more thorough cleaning—she swept, scrubbed, disinfected. She attacked every inch of the modest residence from top to bottom.

She dragged the sheets off of her bed, opened all the windows, pulled down all the curtains and threw everything into the washer. When exhaustion at last flooded her, Michonne placed Carl onto the bare mattress and curled up next to him, before she passed out.

Sometime later, her eyes snapped open. Glancing at her watch she took note that she'd been dozing for the past couple of hours. She reached for her phone. No missed calls. Great. Fantastic. She wasn't being hunted down.

In her dresser drawers there were still t-shirts and tank tops, and yes thank god, some fresh underwear. With her son still in dreamland, she took a quick shower, relocated her clean linen from the washer to the dryer, and decided to go to the park for a bit, before getting lunch. She packed Carl 's bag with his thermos and formula, and while she snuggled him into his jacket, he roused from his nap.

"Hey there sleepy head," she greeted him with a wide smile as his blue orbs fluttered open. "How you feeling? Wanna take a walk to the playground?"

He responded with a yawn. Like, 'Whatever Ma.'

Michonne giggled at his could-care-less attitude.

Scooping him up onto her hip, she grabbed everything she needed then hustled out the door. Once she 'd hauled the stroller out from her car trunk, she strapped him in and gave him a banana. Walking down her block, Michonne thought about making a pit stop at the grocer. She needed ingredients for a veggie lasagna and maybe a chocolate cake. Also, Carl needed more fruits and cereal. Her fridge was understandably, yet embarrassingly, bare.

Just as she hit the curb, however, a luxury sedan screeched to a halt in front of her path. Michonne stumbled back for a second as the door flew open and Rick stepped out.

Tension rippled through her. Naturally, she knew why he came looking for her. She was surprised it took him half a day to track them down.

Lean, arresting features molded into a ruggedly handsome face confronted her. His wavy brown hair fell forward tousled with carelessness above his pensive forehead. Equally captivating eyes scampered up and down. From her to Carl to Rick's own shoes, then back up once more. An apologetic shadow reached out from their depths, as though her face still reflected her annoyance.

"Michonne I…" He shook his head, letting her know he wasn't there for a fight. "...Sorry for the intrusion."

Hmph, apparently she wasn't so good with concealing her emotions.

"Was just off to the park," she said, shrugging one shoulder in a calculated display of nonchalance.

"Mind if I join you?"

Her hands in an instant felt balmy. Her fingers tightened around the stroller's handlebar. Okay, so she was still pissed, she admitted that, but it didn't mean she couldn't be civil towards him. What was her alternative? Make a scene? Cuss him out in front of her baby and the neighbors?

Giving him fodder to add to his 'damning' report was the last thing she needed.

With another brief lift of her shoulder, she pushed Carl's pram off of the sidewalk, continuing in the direction of the playground.

Rick fell into step beside her.

For the five-minute trot, no words were exchanged between them. Rick exercised a modicum of wisdom by keeping his mouth shut.

Covertly studying his form through her curling lashes, Michonne detected signs of remorse from the compressed lines at the corner of his mouth. With his hands buried deep inside the pockets of his tan suede jacket, paired with slim blue jeans, his casual attire revealed he didn't even make it to the office. Good. She'd hoped he felt just as disturbed, if not more, by the disastrous turn in their relationship.

The partly white, partly grey sky, plus the nippiness in the air, didn't help much to chase the grim mood she was in. Nor was it idyllic for fun on the swings.

Nevertheless, as soon as they passed through the playground's gates, she dislodged Carl from his chair and eased him into one of the blue bucket seats. Rick assisted. He tugged Carl's short legs through the holes, fastened his little digits around the yellow, plastic-coated chain link, and gently, Michonne pushed the blissful toddler into the air.

Rick stood close behind her and watched. Michonne would have been less than candid if she didn't confess, at least to herself, that the mere presence of Rick Grimes stirred her pulse. She was irritated with him but she couldn't deny that the man exuded exceptional fortitude and confidence.

"Feel better?" Was the first thing he said. "You running off like this?"

"I didn't run."

"Sneaking out at six in the morning?"

Okay, maybe she did. "Couldn't go back to sleep. Then I thought _What's to stop me from walking out of this place?_ Needed to get my head clear."

"And is it?"

She hesitated, then puffed out a breath. "No." But getting out from under the same roof with his family did help to diffuse her high emotions.

The boisterous giggling from Carl soon stole the attention of his parents, and they refocused on entertaining him. Rick took over propelling him from the back, whilst she stood in front of the swing with her hands held out, encouraging him to kick his legs out.

For a few moments, it delighted Michonne's heart to be able to witness her son's happiness, oblivious to the agitated state existing between the two adults. She could've kept this bundle of joy to herself. But it was too late to think like that.

Eventually, she took Carl out and walked away, back to the stroller, playing silly face with him. She heard Rick mumble something as he shuffled along behind her but she couldn't incline herself to show much interest in what he said.

"Hey. How 'bout you look at me Michonne? For one second. Please?" Rick's plea had an impatient, almost demanding, ring to it.

"Sure," she replied dryly, turning to face him.

The business mogul steeled his jaw against her diffidence. Sitting on the wrought iron bench beside her, he leaned forward, propping his elbows onto his knees. It took him a minute to realize she had no intentions of joining him.

He sighed with a grunt. "Er...my, my father," he stammered, " He was a hard man. Don't talk about him much, but there's not a day that goes by where I don't think about him. He had high expectations for his boys. And he held no qualms about using his fists as a reminder."

Michonne's eyes snapped wide. "Rick…"

"No," he waved off her pitying look, "it's nothing now. Was a long time ago. Anyways, halfway through college the pressure, it got to me. I wanted to take a semester off, to come home, to shut my brain down and just recharge before I burned out. But I didn't do any of that, because I was simply afraid of disappointing my dad. So, in the end, I stuck it out. And of course I struggled, so much so I eventually had something like a nervous breakdown.

"The university recommended that I see someone—a professional—to help me get through it. Which she did. Now, I know it may not be the same thing as what you personally experienced, but what I do know is that whatever torment you went through then, has made you a stronger, kinder person now. I mean you seem to be okay, aren't you?"

At the moment Carl's little hand reached out and grasped her lips. She kissed his tiny fingers whilst he gazed at her. She felt her heart slip into a puddle. "I'm okay."

"Good." He patted the bench. "Come here."

She sat next to him. Though at a distance, and for a few seconds she wasn't sure why. Not like she was afraid of him. Not like she hated him.

"When Negan handed me your file," he continued, "truthfully I just scanned the first page. I swear I didn't read the rest. I didn't want to. I'm sorry for assuming the worst of you, right at the start. I know that if I'd simply taken a moment to stop being an ass, none of this would've been put into motion." He glanced at her sideways, with all solemness. "Think you can forgive me? Especially after…" his face bloomed red, "...last night when it was just us?"

Michonne hesitated, her own body flamed, knowing he referred to the intimacy they'd shared between them. She bent over, placing the squirming toddler back into his stroller.

"Do you know the real reason why I came out here to find you?" she asked.

"Because it was the right thing to do. I'm deserved to know I was a father."

She shook her head. "Sorry, not that altruistic. One of the things I am most afraid of is for Carl to end up as I did. When my mother and sister died, the loss was insurmountable. Despite having my adoptive parents, it was hard for me to handle. Carl has already lost Lori. And now he's stuck with just me. If something happened, if I no longer can be there for him, then there's no one left.

"But I thought... I thought that if he has this entire family that would possibly accept him, then I owed it to him to make sure they are in his life. I love Carl with my whole heart, but he scares me. The possibility of failing him scares me. Now honestly, I'm scared you're going to fail him too."

"No," he shook his head, "you don't have to be, because I won't."

Michonne thought for a moment. "Is this how you're going to raise him? Are you going to teach your son that it's okay to treat people as insignificant?"

"Is that what you think?"

"I think that when I look at you, I see a man who could be so much better. I mean you could be. And…" She turned back to the near-empty play area, "...maybe I'm foolish for confessing this, but I've personally never had any ambition of having a family of my own, not like you. Why would I?"

She reflected about everything she'd been through and knew Rick wouldn't understand why she made such a statement. But when he placed his hand on hers and stared at her, she saw compassion soften his eyes.

"But now you do," he said with tenderness.

She nodded. "I'm not going to let you rip that away from me."

"Sorry." The word came out as no more than a croak through a throat tightened in penitence. He slid down to his knees not daring to release Michonne's hand and kissed the back of her knuckles repeatedly. "I've been torn about whether or not I could trust you."

"And do you?"

"More than."

"Prove it. This custody arrangement needs to be settled. You filed the Paternity Acknowledgement form already, to get your name on his birth certificate. Let's settle everything else with just us and our lawyers, or a mediator if you wish. We need to be on the same page, it's what Carl deserves."

"You're absolutely right. It is."

The sincerity evident in his expression assuaged a measure of her anxiety. "Ms. Williams, she'll be away till next week."

"Yeah, that's what my attorney tells me." He stood up. "Tonight, will I see you home?"

"Can't say." Michonne frowned. "Might not be what's best anymore."

A look of dejection crossed his face. "Okay. Guess I can't argue with that."

Michonne pulled the baby bag from the stroller's bottom compartment, retrieved Carl's bottle and mixed his hot water and formula.

"Thought you were weaning him off?" Rick protested.

She rolled her eyes. The man didn't miss a beat. "Sometimes it's the easiest thing. You got a problem with that?"

"No," he said, as he took the bottle from her and shook it. "I don't have a problem." He stooped down in front of Carl, ready to feed him.

"Make sure it's not hot," she cautioned.

"It's not."

"Make sure," she insisted. "Do the test."

"On the top or the bottom of the wrist?"

"Bottom."

Rick pushed up his coat sleeve and shook a few drops of the milk out on to his skin. He paused and gave his son a contemplative look, then passed the container back to her. "Here. Think it's okay."

She gazed at him confused. Taking cognizance of his sudden change in action as he stood up, jangling his keys in his hand.

"I'll leave you to it," he said. "But call me if you need anything. I mean most of your stuff is over there."

"I will," she answered quietly.

Rick released a heavy breath and shook his head as though something just dawned on him. Before she could inquire what else was on his mind, he dropped a kiss on her forehead and retreated out of the playing field.


	13. Try

**Chapter 13:**

 **Try**

The lunch rush at _Wilton's_ was typical for a Friday. As the establishment was one of the few decent eateries at the center of the business area on the edge of Oakdale, the Jamaican diner next to _Signature Delicacies_ was packed to capacity when Michonne padded in around one in the afternoon. None of the tables were immediately available, and she considered getting her meal to go. She'd already spent an extra hour she didn't mean to in Siddiq's office, preparing next week's schedule for when they reopened. Before that, she'd did a 40-minute round at Deen's Gym, working the bag. And Paul, who'd agreed to watch Carl at short notice, had a yoga class within the next hour and a half. She wanted to be back at her apartment to relieve her friend at least thirty minutes before, giving him enough time to organize for his afternoon session.

"Hey, Michonne! Over here."

Her surveying gaze landed on a familiar-looking man with a wide grin. He flicked his wrist motioning her to join him—Phillip something, the manager of _Brico Depot,_ the home improvement store a few blocks away from her complex. This was an odd surprise.

Nonetheless, she smiled and walked across the room to his table, sitting in the empty chair opposite his. "Hey."

"Hey yourself. Fancy meeting you here," he said, wiping his napkin along his chin. "It's been a good, long while since."

"Yeah, well, I've been settled. So you know…" She shrugged, remembering the numerous visits to the warehouse during her first month in Savannah.

Although the apartment was in pretty good condition when she'd leased it, she still wanted to make some minor adjustments. Mr. Phillip… she bit her lower lip trying to recall his name.

Blake.

Right, that was it, Mr. Philip Blake.

He was most helpful, a little too 'helpful' in her opinion. Even going as far as offering to come over to her place to lend a hand himself. Well, she didn't hesitate to, politely yet firmly, shut that down, and to her delight, he took it like a gentleman.

"You usually come around here?" he asked.

"Oh, definitely. One of my favorites." She purposefully didn't reveal she also worked next door. Somehow she knew she shouldn't.

"I can see why. The food was incredible. One of my new employees suggested it. As good as a home cooked meal, so I think I might come back this way again."

"Be careful, you might pack on a few extra pounds."

He chuckled. "Might be worth it if I get to run into you again. Listen..." he checked his watch, "...I got five minutes left on my break, so I gotta run. I'm sorry. But it'll be nice if you can stop by the store some time and we could play catch up." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. "You let me know how your place turned out and I can show you around to our new stock, introduce you to our new services. How does that sound?"

She smirked at the mischievous charm glinting in his eyes. A real pretty boy, this one. "Sure, fine."

"Well alright now. Great, I'll hold you to that." He then signaled to the waitress and paid for his check, leaving extra to cover Michonne's meal as well.

Despite her internal protests to his gesture she, with a yielding smile, thanked him and bid him goodbye. The waitress poured water into Michonne's glass, and after a quick glance through the menu handed to her, Michonne ordered the fish special with extra dumplings.

She then sank into the chair. The profusion of aromatic spices filled the diner and her soul with warmth. As she slipped off her jacket, draping it across her lap, her phone buzzed with an incoming message. She pulled it out, expecting it to be Paul, but it wasn't.

It was Rick. Checking to see if the delivery of her boxes went okay.

She didn't want to hesitate. Immediately she typed back in the affirmative.

True to his word, over the past two days he'd arranged with Jerry to have most of her and Carl's belongings returned to her possession.

Her phone buzzed again. Another text.

"Are you free tonight? I'd like to see Carl."

"Sure. Bath time is at six."

"I'll be there. Thank you."

She slipped her phone back into her handbag. That was simple enough, a clear and clean-cut arrangement. The way she usually got things done when she relied on herself to make a decision. Without the BS and the drama, gone was the tension in her back and the knots in her stomach. She knew she shouldn't feel this much relief but still, not having to try so hard for acceptance from Rick _and_ his family, allowed her to breathe easy again. From here on out, she would leave it up to Rick to make the necessary adjustments.

Quick taps on her shoulder made her jump out of her thoughts and she spun around.

Michonne did a double-take. "Sherry?"

"Hey girl!" The brunette came to her side, leaning down to kiss her on her cheek. "So good to see you."

Michonne's mouth flopped open and close, then open again. But nothing came out. As Sherry invited herself to the vacant seat, Michonne quickly scanned the room for the young woman's husband. The knots returned in an instant.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

She did not want a public scene.

"Hey," Sherry, sensing her unease, placed her hand on top of Michonne's in a placation gesture, "It's just me. Wanted to get something to eat."

Michonne arched her brow and scanned the socialite. Something to eat? In Oakdale?

In this ho-hum neighborhood, wearing a designer bar-jacket, elbow high gloves, and reeking of _Chanel_?

Who did this chick think she was fooling.

In silence, Michonne's eyes kept searching until, through the window, she recognized someone. Not Negan, but one of his toy soldiers. The security guy—the blonde, thin one—stood alone outside, propped against the hood of a car, smoking a cigarette.

"What is it I can help you with, Sherry?" Michonne finally muttered.

"That's some bruiser you put on my husband," she winked with a teasing smile, "Wish I could've seen you do it. He's a brute. I know. But when you really get to know him, he isn't all that bad. Given everything that's taken place, you might find that hard to believe."

Yes. Michonne found that very hard to believe.

' _You're not his mother! You're just the nanny.'_ His disgusting words rang off in her head. She decisively dismissed them before they digested into her system. She would not let the memory of that man ruin her day.

Sherry crossed her long legs and tucked her shiny, brown hair behind her diamond-studded ears. "Matter of fact, I would like to, on behalf of Negan, make a personal apology for his presumptuous actions. His behavior was reprehensible, and things definitely went too far, didn't it?"

Michonne frowned, confused as to whether that was a serious question.

Sherry, reading Michonne's perplexed countenance, dropped her gaze to the fabric of her jeans. "Also... I never got the chance to confide in you about how he and I met," she said, "I doubt Rick would've blabbed, but let's just say Negan saved me out of a tough spot. I hit rock bottom. And in return, I helped him meet his father's requirements. It's a... business venture."

The waitress returned with Michonne's food, setting the steaming dish before her.

"Ooh that looks delish," Sherry commented, but Michonne found she'd lost her appetite. "You know, I have never seen Rick stand up to his brother like that. As a matter of fact, all three never seem to be out of sync with each other. When I came along I didn't make a ripple. Makes me wonder... What makes you so special?"

"It's not me, it's Carl."

"No. It's you. I might not say much, but I'm not stupid."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. Something about the way Rick is with you, his brothers don't like it. And it's not a race thing, if you don't mind me saying."

Michonne used her fork to pierce the fish steak. "Are you sure about that?"

Sherry laughed. "The stories Veronica tells...trust me, you being African-American is not the issue."

"Then, what is it?"

"Maybe it's too much, too fast. I don't know if Rick told you, but less than two months ago, he was on the verge of proposing to his girlfriend at the time, Jessica. Obviously, things didn't work out."

"Why?"

She shook her head. "It's complicated." Her phone rang and she pulled it out from her pocket but hit the ignore button. "The fact is, Rick's still vulnerable. An attractive woman showing up with his baby? Negan would kill me if he found out I told you this but, he thinks Rick would be too eager to grab hold of possibly a ready-made family. Apparently, it's all he ever wanted. It's just he's had a run of bad luck in that department."

Michonne felt the back of her throat run dry. Was she implying that Michonne was simply a convenient substitute? "Negan's out of place. He can't control Rick's choices."

"But he can control yours? You were missed the last few nights at dinner, then again at breakfast. And not just by me, Veronica is not too pleased either. You didn't let her say goodbye."

Damn. Michonne closed her eyes for a moment, replaying the night Veronica was introduced to her only grandson. The woman was overjoyed. Michonne should've known her sudden absence would've affected Rick's mom as well. For her sanity sake, however, Michonne was mainly concerned about getting out.

Of course, it was foolish of her to indulge in the pretense of complete separateness from the rest of the clan.

What was she thinking?

Having Sherry hunt her down was undeniable proof of that.

"Tell your mother-in-law," Michonne sighed on a breath of resignation, "I'll bring Carl for a visit after lunch tomorrow."

Sherry scrunched her nose. "You gonna bring Rick too? Because he's back on the island and Veronica had something to say about that as well. He's not taking her calls."

Michonne looked at Sherry in shock. "I can't control Rick's choices either."

Sherry stood up and scoffed. "Wanna bet?"

* * *

"We've been going at this for the past month now. Frankly, I'm sick of this back and forth."

Rick faced his lawyer with a low grunt in response. As he stood next to him, Gregory turned from peering out through the office window of Williams Law Firm, and reached for a tall, silver pitcher, pouring out water into his glass. He squinted at the liquid with disdain in his eyes.

"Do you have any idea how much work I've got piled up, just to get this done?" the over-priced attorney continued with his complaints, "And Ms. Williams, the way her mind works is asinine. Women lawyers…hmph, they really screwed up the system with that particular allowance. Am I right?"

Rick rubbed the back of his neck. "Think I'd appreciate it if you'd just stick to your job."

"What? I am doing my job. That woman, she's got some vendetta. You see the way she looks at me?"

"Well, as you said, this is the beginning of the end. So, bear up."

Just then Sasha Williams herself walked in, joining them in her small conference room. Michonne trailed behind her.

"Okay, gentlemen," Sasha said, as they each took a seat at the circular, wooden table, "we've been at this too long. Gregory, I could see the steam rising from the top of your head. So, let's finalize this parenting plan tonight, and Rick, he can proceed with filing his petition of legitimation to the court and everyone can move on."

"Trust me, I was just relaying those exact sentiments." Gregory cautiously sipped his beverage and leaned back. "The only major holdup has been the direct result of you and Miss Andrews. Listen, _Sash_ , you know as well as I do that that urban myth about Mother's rights doesn't fly anymore. The world is evolving."

"You are exactly right, _Gregs_ ," Ms. Williams conceded, but with a bitter edge to Gregory's condescending tone. "Judges nowadays are all about what's in the best interests of the child. That's why this joint legal and physical custody agreement is quite fair." She opened a brown folder and withdrew her copy of the most recent draft of their settlement agreement to be submitted to the courts.

Gregory lifted his briefcase and followed suit. "Is it? Is it really Miss Williams?"

"Gregory—"

"Because it doesn't look that way to me. Rick feels cheated in missing out so many milestones in his son's life. He wishes not to be absent from experiencing anymore. Therefore, he proposes that they continue to live with each other at a place of Michonne's choosing. Roomies if you will? That's what you young people call it, am I right?" He looked back and forth between the two clients who sat on opposite ends, but neither responded. "Anyway, Mr. Grimes will cover all expenses of course, and before you object again Miss Andrews, let me restate that this arrangement has the advantage of assuring the minor continued contact and involvement of both parents. Which, as your representative so beautifully mentioned, is in the best interests of the child."

Sasha sighed, clearly she found the argument tiresome. "You won't budge? This is your best case scenario?"

Rick leaned forward and placed his arms on the desk, settled. "Yes, it is."

Michonne's eyes finally found his since entering the office. "Seriously? You know you could always get your own place nearby."

"What about bath time, then tucking him in after reading his favorite stories...you gonna come open up for me when I get back from work every night?"

Her expression grew thoughtful. "We could alternate. Some people even exchange keys."

"I'm not most people. Shouldn't have to schedule to see my own child. And if there's an emergency, if he has another tummy ache, wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, you're gonna call me over to your place then too?"

"Yes."

He scoffed. "You're being stubborn."

"And you're being ridiculous. Look, I don't have space for you and your things. Nor do I have a full staff of servants, as a matter of fact. Are you going to share in doing the house chores, or do you expect me to cook and clean up after you?" She looked at Sasha with an expression beyond exasperation. "I'm not washing this man's drawers. I'm not."

Although Michonne's countenance was dead serious, Rick laughed. He knew he shouldn't, but he damn sure had no problem with washing her drawers.

Michonne glared at him and he swallowed his amusement. "What's so funny Rick? I'm not playing with you, I'm just being real. There's gotta be another way."

"There isn't. Not for me. This isn't just about being there. It's about being present when needed." He wanted to be reasonable and civil, but without backing down. "As Gregory said before, I'll get us a bigger space. You and I, we both will. We'll find something good that suits us all. And as for chores," he shrugged, "I ain't scared of getting in some grocery shopping or doing some dirty dishes or what not. Make a schedule, I don't mind. I'm flexible to do anything."

"Anything?" Michonne asked, doubtful.

"Anything. Now please, I'm asking you again to reconsider." He'd submitted to practically everything else in their agreement—from where Carl would go to school, to when he'd have access to his trust fund—all to win back her trust. Rick just wanted this one thing.

To his surprise, she requested to speak with him in private. Since neither of their counselors objected, he pushed back his chair and followed her out into the narrow hall.

She stopped right outside the door and pressed her back against the glass wall to another office. Moments passed without her saying a word.

He kept silent as well. More preoccupied with studying her thoughtful expression. Again she had that look when she was weaving through a myriad of concerns in her mind.

His phone vibrated and Rick reached blindly to reject the call. As he waited and watched her distract herself with her own hands, he noted how she interlocked her fingers; flexing and curling them alternately. Though her hair hung completely loose, his view wasn't obscured and he was free to drink in her stunning cheekbones, her even skin, her curled lashes. It occurred to him that even though a sharp frown arced her full lips, they were still so inviting.

Damn, she was beautiful. If only those fingers would play with him instead. Right now he wanted to press himself against her, to lock her soft body in his embrace and kiss the hell out of her.

Rick shuffled back. He thrust his fists into his jeans pockets. Now he wished she would say something, to prevent his thoughts from straying to where they shouldn't be straying.

"How are we to handle guests?" she said, rather abruptly.

"Guests?" He squinted at her. "What guests?"

"You know...family. Friends," she specified.

"Oh. Well, would full notification at least two hours before be sufficient?"

"How about a full discussion, a day before."

"And that would be both ways?" he asked, tentative, "For me and for you?"

"Yes."

"Done."

She nodded and continued: "What about you giving up your privacy? Are you sure you're comfortable with that?"

Rick paused, recalling their conversation at his condo weeks before. Honestly, Rick valued having a measure of space for himself. Not stepping on anyone's toes as he came and went as he pleased. But…

"The sacrifice would be worth the reward," he said, with utmost confidence. For too long he'd been walking around half of a man with this big gaping hole. This was his chance to fix that. "The pros far outweigh the cons."

"Do you really believe that?" Her head tilted at an angle and she gave him a penetrating look. One that was half empathy, half pity, yet full of understanding.

It forced him to glance away.

"A family?" she said quietly.

A tingling swept up the back of his neck and across his face. Leaving in its wake a scorching heat just under the surface of his skin. "Er...what I," he stammered, "no what I mean is playtime at the park, you know. Sharing meals. Maybe even picnics on the beach. If you let me, I could make things easier for you. Just let me."

"Rick, don't you think that could be...confusing?"

Confusing for who? For him or for her?

"For the both of us," she said, as though she'd pitched a tent inside his mind.

Rick fidgeted. He stole an awkward glimpse at her but didn't stare. So as to not expose himself.

He still wanted her. Bad. For him, that hadn't changed. But for her, he knew, and understood, why she'd kept her distance.

Every time he went to her home to see Carl, there was always some errand to be done or some phone call to be made. Anything as an excuse for her not to be caught spending extra time with him.

So why was he being so persistent with their living arrangements?

Because he had been selfish. He didn't realize just how much till that day she left and he'd found her at her apartment. It was an inconsequential moment but it triggered a realization in him: She shouldn't be forced to compromise just because it's easier.

He was so focused on wanting Carl, on wanting her, that he didn't stop to consider how much of a load it was, raising Carl alone. Not that she was incapable, because anyone, even with dimness of sight, could see how incredible she was with his son.

But for Rick, he needed to try harder, to step up and be there for her because that's how their story should've begun.

He no longer wanted to take up the responsibility for just his son, he wanted to be responsible for this woman. To prove to himself and also to her that he could be someone who was trustworthy and reliable.

But he needed time.

"Six months," he said. "If we make it work, we find a bigger apartment. If it doesn't work out, then...then we'll revise the living arrangements. But I think it will. I think this time it's gonna be different."

"It'll be just us."

He nodded, noting the waver in her voice and the honest-to-god fright in her deep, brown eyes. His stomach flipped. She was going to shut him down and he couldn't have that happening.

Rick placed his hands on her shoulders. His muscles burned not to drag her close. "I messed up before. Let me try again. It's a bit of an intrusion on your life I know, but let me make you a deal: I'll tell you what...if I step out of line feel free to put me in a time out."

She rolled her eyes and managed a small grin.

"Give me extra chores and what not. How 'bout it? I promise not to pout and fuss."

Her smile widened at his self-deprecating joke. "Promise?"

He smiled back. "We could put it in writing if you want."

She laughed and pointed a finger at him. "Oh you bet your ass it's going down on paper. No pouting, no fussing, no crying when Rick Grimes gets his butt checked. Yes."

Rick folded his arms and chuckled. "And what about you?"

"What about me? That doesn't apply."

"Er...I think it does."

"Nuh-uh. Like you said, you're the encroacher. I'm the encroachee...I can pout and fuss all I want."

"Encroached…"

"What?"

"You're the encroached," he corrected, " _Encroachee_ is not a word."

She touched his chest with a playful smack. "Boy, whatever."

Even though they stood grinning at each other, Rick understood that his mistakes were by no means absolved. They were simply pushing forward. They had to. And in reality, that was all he could ask for.

"So…" he said, "We're doing this?"

She shook her head and inhaled a deep breath. "Yeah. We're doing this."

"So this is how it will go," Gregory said, once Michonne and Rick regrouped with their attorneys, "As long as the judge is satisfied that the agreement was fairly negotiated, and that it was made with the best interests of the child in mind, the agreement will almost always receive court approval.

"Now depending on the backlog, it could a couple of months. But with Mr. Grimes public reputation as a pillar of the community, we should have everything settled in a few weeks, at most."

"Seriously?" Michonne asked.

"Uh, yeah seriously," Gregory mocked.

Rick jabbed the ass under the table and Gregory squawked. "So, it's a done deal then?"

"Pretty much." Sasha collected her paperwork and stood from her chair.

Rubbing his side Gregory added, "Feel free to move in tonight."

"Gregory!" Sasha scolded.

"Oh please. It's what the young man is thinking anyhow. Besides, might as well get it over and done with."

"Yeah, might as well," Rick taunted, enjoying the challenging lift of Michonne's brow.

"In your dreams buddy." Michonne got up and collected her jacket. "If you want this, you're gonna have to wait. Nothing's happening till after."

"Yes Ma'am." He stared a little too long at her perfect behind as she sashayed out of the office, leaving him satisfied over their resolution.

As he left the building, Rick's phone vibrated again and he glanced at the lit screen.

It was a text, from Negan. Rick's heart rate picked up speed as he gaped at the message. The note was concise, to the point, and sharply disturbing. So much so, that Rick felt the wind knocked right out of him.

"Shane's been in an accident! It's bad. Meet me at _Mercy Hospital_ asap."


	14. Putting Up A Resistance

**A/N:** Hey. So we're down to the last few chapters (yea!) and I am really pushing to stay on schedule. Thanks to everyone sticking with me. Enjoy reading.

 **Chapter 14:**

 **Putting Up A Resistance**

Michonne grabbed a large bag of bagel chips from the center display at the gourmet market and examined it.

"Trying something new?" Paul asked as he rolled up next to her with the shopping cart. Carl was in the seating area munching on berries, contented.

She shrugged, turning the pack around, reading the ingredients.

"Don't." Paul took the snack away and replaced it on the stand. "You probably could make those yourself with a lot less sodium."

He was right, she probably could.

"Since when are you into the overpriced crispy stuff anyway? It's always chocolates and sweets with you, which by the way I'm glad you've cut back on, but that's over on the third aisle. In case you've forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten, and no, I'm not into that stuff…" _But Rick eats them all the time._ She stopped herself before the words got a chance to slip out of her mouth. Didn't matter though, because Paul, with his ever-perceptive self, was already giving her his signature side-eye look.

The smug bastard picked the bag back up and threw it in with the rest of their items. "Anything else?"

"Um, I'm not sure." She ignored his cheeky attitude, continuing with her mindless browsing.

Paul followed. "That's because this is our third trip this week. You sure are putting that Amex card to good use. Not that I can blame you, but your pantry has to be overstocked by now, and then some."

"There's still space in the freezer."

"Uh-huh. Well in that case…" They strolled down the dairy aisle, and Paul paused to collect containers of greek yogurt before they headed towards the cashier.

With only one register open, they had to wait in a lengthy line. With more than one elderly person ahead of them, Michonne knew this would take awhile.

"If you're looking to kill time out of the house, come visit me more at the gym," he suggested. "Like tomorrow. I've picked up an extra class on Saturdays. The meditation exercises would do wonders to relieve your… tension."

Michonne's head flinched back slightly. "What are you even talking about? What tension?"

"Oh please, I could sense it rolling off you in waves. You're not fooling anyone, and if I could pick up on it I'm pretty sure he could too."

She cast him a perplexed look, but he wasn't buying it.

"Don't," Paul reprimanded her, "Don't pretend you have no idea who I'm talking about, okay? It can't be easy living with Rick Grimes in such a tiny space."

Michonne huffed out a laugh. That was an understatement, to say the least. No, it wasn't easy, but she wasn't about to lay all her struggles bare to her neighbor.

Admittedly, the past three months had been an unequivocal challenge and no, that wasn't an exaggeration on her part. Contrary to what Rick said, the pros did not outweigh the cons. Not even close. However, she thought she was handling the changes pretty well. She didn't _feel_ much tension.

Most of the time.

Yes okay, it irritated the hell out of her that he was always present, which, by the way, was con number one. Even when he physically wasn't there, he was still there.

From his scraps of popcorn on her sofa, to his dirty coffee mug in the kitchen sink, and to his gym bag stuffed in her storage closet. And the worst of it was the sagey, minty smell of his shower gel which lingered in the bathroom like some black magic conjuring up explicit images in her head.

Images of Rick.

Wet.

Naked.

And…

Michonne bit her lower lip, reminding herself that she was in public. Now was not the time to get caught up in fantasies, but it wasn't like she wanted to in the first place. They just happened.

How in the world did he get her to agree to this most ridiculous of ideas? She had no clue. Except that...Well, she did. As off-kilter as she'd been, who could fault the man for wanting to be with his kid. It was sweet and endearing—his desire to be a constant in Carl's life and to love his son with every bit of himself.

And to be fair, Rick did give Michonne time to adapt before the adjustment.

After they'd made their appearance in court, Rick's petition was accepted in time for the holidays. He and his family were ecstatic. Of course, she was too. As an official Grimes, Carl celebrated his second Christmas with his father at the mansion.

She herself declined the invitation, preferring to keep her distance whenever possible. It still made her furious, their unscrupulous actions against her, and she didn't want to risk a fallout that would disrupt the happy occasion.

Moreover, Shane's temporary paralytic condition at the time, due to his near-fatal accident, was already one source of heaviness. She didn't need to add another source of contention, despite Rick's denial that she would.

Nonetheless, by the end of New Year's day, Rick had officially moved into her apartment. Carl's crib got relocated to her room, leaving the second bedroom available for his father and his belongings.

"I know it's small," she'd said, watching Jerry jam Rick's bed against the wall, "With your ego and all, but…"

He'd laughed. "It'll work. Just temporary in any case."

From then on he insisted they coordinate their schedules to include multiple meetings with his realtor. Which was con number two. Regardless of their six-month agreement, this man was already convinced they could make their situation permanent, and somehow that gave her a sense of foreboding. Michonne tried to dispel her instincts, but that only served to make her anxious.

She dug through her oversized bag and retrieved a wipe for Carl's sticky lips. "Hey, when we get home, maybe we can order a pizza. Rick should be back from work by now, so he could put Carl down and I could come over to your place and hang out."

Paul sighed. "Michonne, don't take this the wrong way sweetie, but maybe you should start dating again. With Carl's dad there, giving you a helping hand, you guys getting into a routine, you have the opportunity to take a real night out. Whenever you want."

Michonne gave him a blank look, then burst out laughing at his willful ignorance. "Right, like it would be so easy." This was Rick Grimes they were talking about. The man would probably throw a fit, for reasons on which she would not dare to ruminate.

"Aren't you still entitled to live your own life? Or did you forget to mention to me the part in your joint custody agreement, where Rick would have you on lockdown?"

She looked at him appalled. Heat fusing her cheeks. "Where is this coming from? I don't even know how to respond to that."

"Maybe you do," he nudged her forward as the line moved up, "And maybe you don't. Whatever. Clearly, it's none of my business. All I know is there's a butt print on my couch with your name on it."

"Customer card?"

Michonne blinked up at the weary-faced cashier. It hadn't occurred to her they'd reached to the top of the line. "Um, yeah." She dug through her purse and retrieved the card as Paul loaded their items onto the conveyor belt.

Just when she took Carl out of the trolley, her phone buzzed. She fetched the mobile and read the incoming messages. Speak of the devil.

Rick: I'm coming home a little late. Don't cook. Hope you feel like Chinese.

Rick: I went ahead and ordered your regular.

She rolled her eyes. Oh please, confident ass. How did he know what her regular was? Before she had the chance to question his assumption, her phone buzzed yet again.

Rick: Broccoli beef and steamed brown rice?

Okay, so he did remember her preference. That's... interesting.

Or was it?

Should she read into this—the fact that he kept in mind something so mundane as her personal go-to choice for Asian take-out? No, she shouldn't. Of course not.

But then again…

As she re-read the texts in quick succession it elicited a fluttering sensation. A sensation she shouldn't have. A sensation she shouldn't want or like.

He's been paying attention, she thought and her lips curled into a smile. How could she turn his dinner invitation down? Besides, Paul was partly right—she'd been spending an excessive amount of time in his house.

She typed back.

Michonne: Sure.

Once out in the parking lot, they bundled themselves into Paul's car as brisk as possible. Even though Spring was just over two weeks away, the temperatures at night still had a bite to it. Just as they were about to drive off, Michonne realized she couldn't find her phone. Absent-minded, she'd dump it into one of the shopping bags which were locked inside the trunk.

Unbuckling her seat belt, Michonne climbed back out, whilst Paul pulled the lever to release the lid. With the light posts' assistance, she made quick work digging through the bags, and by the third one, she'd found her mobile.

Unexpectedly, footsteps then came up from behind her. She spun around, fingers clutching her device, only to come face to face with a familiar acquaintance.

"Hey," she said, relieved and surprised at being approached by Philip Blake.

The last she'd seen of him was right around Thanksgiving. He'd had his hands full dealing with dissatisfied and irritable shoppers. For a brief moment, she'd exchanged a few words with him before moving along, busying herself with purchasing new drapes and curtain rods.

"Well, I'll be. Isn't this a pleasant surprise," he said, charm oozing from his deep drawl.

"Is it?" she teased, noting his appreciative glance as it slid down her figure and back. She didn't feel offended. If anything his flirtations were, at best, amusing. "How are you?"

"Would it be too corny if I said a hell-of-a-lot better now that I've had the good fortune to run into you?"

She smiled, he was consistent. "Definitely corny."

He laughed. "Okay yeah, but it's the god's-honest truth. Been having a crap day today. As a matter of fact, I only just got off from work after putting in twelve long, grueling hours."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He shook his head. "Had a tough situation that needed to be dealt with." His expression sank into solemness.

"Sorry. Not too tough I hope."

"Actually, had to let some of my people go."

She grimaced. "That's never pleasant."

"You're telling me. It isn't easy finding good help these days. You never know who to trust."

"Yeah," she agreed, "That's life in general."

"Sounds like you know a little about the world's tendency to be duplicitous."

"I do."

He dipped his head and peered through the back windscreen. "Well, looks like I'm keeping you back, so best if I let you go. But before I do…" he moved closer, placing his hand above her head on the trunk lid, "...how about you let me take you out to dinner. Not tonight but, soon?"

Taller than her short stature by almost a foot, his lean form shadowed her, he was so sure of himself. Michonne, on the other hand, was not exactly impressed. He was too cool, too smooth, and she felt she shouldn't encourage his advances past idle flirtations.

She stepped away from him. Not by much because she didn't want to cause offense, but just enough so he'd know she wasn't feeling him. "That may not—"

He quickly interrupted her protest. "It's a bit forward of me, I know, but I promise you'll have a grand ole time. There's this place up midtown—a fine steak house. Their spicy chicken bites are to die for, and their sirloin is exquisite."

Michonne's attitude switched to one of earnest contemplation of the man before her. She couldn't deny the presence of a strange gleam in his eyes, he reeked of overconfidence and she had no idea why.

Just then, Paul's suggestion about her dating again lurched front and center in her mind. Though he'd meant well, and he proved himself as highly perceptive, her friend still had no clue about the true dynamic of her and Rick's relationship. Simply because she felt it was unnecessary to tell him. And, to a certain degree, it was embarrassing.

Moreover, because of everything that transpired between her and Rick, or maybe in spite of it, they were still there together. Giving their best to their little one.

Therefore, she feared that her pursuing a romantic dalliance, right at that point in time, would only add a further strain of awkwardness between them.

Or, would it?

She blew out a deep breath thinking maybe, going out on a date with someone would do just the opposite. Maybe, it could set clear boundaries and, more importantly, divert her attention away from her residual attraction to Rick. Which was what she wanted.

She looked up at Philip who stood patiently waiting. Before she had a change of mind, she unlocked her phone, handing it to him.

"If you give me your number," she said, "I'll give you a call when I'm available."

It wouldn't be anything serious, but she hoped that simple step would act as a jump-off point.

"Michonne," Paul said, as soon as she resettled in the car, "Don't overthink it. Don't worry about Carl, and definitely don't worry about Rick. You owe it to yourself to do this. Go out, have a little fun. And who knows? I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"

* * *

Michonne thought that this was a bit ridiculous: A major CFO who couldn't work a washing machine?

Was this the highlight of her Saturday?

"There are too many options," Rick complained when she discovered him in the kitchen, staring dumbfounded at the stackable washer/dryer tucked between the wall and her cleaning supplies closet.

"You know," she began, with a breathy chuckle, "I don't think there's a lot of men, especially those with your position, that would admit to being stumped by a household appliance."

His cheeks reddened as he dipped his chin and mumbled, "I never claimed to be perfect."

Against her better judgment, a widening smile stretched the corners of her mouth. Even when embarrassed, how did he manage to still be so alluring? Immediately, she quelled that thought. She shouldn't have allowed it.

"Move." She elbowed him aside and transferred her regard to the contents of his basket. "All this time and I still have to show you how to do this right?" she scolded with all seriousness. "It's been three months."

"I just can't seem to figure out the right settings."

"So how do you have clean clothes?"

"At my condo, there's a cleaning service. But then I let that place go, so..." he shrugged and Michonne looked back at him, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

She had no idea he had done that. "Are you sure? About giving up your home?"

"Yes, I'm sure," he smiled, "Wasn't particularly attached to it. Hardly spent much time there other than to eat and sleep. I mean, I know you liked it there and I thought, perhaps, that could've been an option for us. But it's too far, right? So keeping it didn't make sense."

Selling it didn't make sense. At least, not yet.

She did, quite frankly, like his place out on Tybee Island. It was quiet and serene. The breathtaking view of the Atlantic Ocean, across the well-manicured courtyard and the dazzling swimming pool, had a way of entrancing a person for a long period of time. What Rick did with his property was his business of course, but now his things were where? In storage? How long did he intend to leave them there? She had an inkling, not very.

"Well, if you thought that was best," she said, with airy indifference and his easy smile faltered.

Getting back to the issue at hand, she turned to the washer and, once again, walked him through the different wash cycles. How to choose the right intensity and temperature for his fabrics, and the importance of sorting through his laundry based on color and the level of dirtiness.

When he started emptying his hamper, he loaded heavyweight garments with light and she stopped him. "Oh my god, I cannot with you. Take those towels out."

"But I'm doing whites."

"Yes, but bath towels should be done separately." She removed the thick cotton fabrics from the drum and stuffed them back into his hamper.

"Wait." Before she realized his intent, he peeled off his t-shirt, threw it in, and closed the lid.

She deliberately averted her eyes from his toned chest, but not before her gaze ogled him for a quick second. The man was out to torture her on purpose.

With the laundry lesson over, she walked away and settled herself on the couch with her laptop. With Carl taking his afternoon nap, she had some time to work through her personal business, uninterrupted.

Just as she logged in to her profile, however, Rick, still with just jeans on, mind you, came and reclined right next to her. His arm brushed against her skin and she had to fight to keep her mind straight.

When he'd first moved in, it was easy to do. She was focused on their objective, daily giving herself pep talks but somewhere along the line, it became increasingly difficult. Like now.

She shuffled closer to her corner, needing distance. "You're not gonna get a fresh shirt?"

Opening his own laptop, he shrugged. "Bit hot, don't you think?"

It was the end of March. She glanced at the thermostat. _75 degrees_. Seriously? "Could adjust the temperature?"

"Nah. Maybe some iced-tea? Thanks."

Wait. She gaped at him, disbelieving. Did he expect her to serve him? "There isn't any. You drank it all out."

"Oh. My bad. Taste so damned good." Making himself comfortable his legs stretched out, ankles crossed, while he smiled down at her.

It _was_ a bit hot, wasn't it?

She needed to get up, and she did.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, baffled.

"Nothing, just going to look in on Carl."

"Oh um, have you seen my glasses?" he called out as she retreated into the hallway. "Think I left them in the bathroom. Would you mind checking?"

"Sure."

As Michonne stood admiring the shining gleam of the bathroom sink she had to concede; living with Rick had its perks.

Despite the challenges, she reminded herself that he was helpful.

Did he clean? Pssh. No. Instead, he hired a service to come on Wednesdays to do it for him, and well, by extension, her. So she couldn't argue that that was a plus.

It was jarring that first time though, to come home to find a strange man vacuuming her couch. (Whilst belting out _Beyoncé's 'Halo'_ ) But by the third week, she looked forward to Mr. Morgan Jones' visits. He was cool.

Originally from Alabama, he and his son Dwayne ( _'Queen Bey's_ ' number one fan) moved to Georgia when Morgan's grandmother passed. He had inherited her sprawling property up in Montgomery, and on several occasions, he'd invited her and Rick over to lunch. Not wanting to give the wrong impression, she was yet to make a commitment.

As she glanced through the medicine cabinet items, another plus she should admit to was having more time for herself. Especially in the mornings. Before she'd wake up, Rick would sneak into her room, take Carl, and organize the toddler's breakfast. Admittedly, that extra thirty-forty minutes snuggled with her pillows were golden.

On the other hand, when she'd get to the kitchen and catch sight of her baby boy in his glee with his dad beaming at him, her heart would dissolve into mush.

And that definitely was a negative.

She may have agreed to live together but indulging in any sliver of attraction to Rick Grimes was out of the question. As far as she was concerned that bridge burned months ago. A man who so easily resorted to lies and manipulations was not the man for her.

But those damned images of him slowly started creeping into her dreams in the middle of the night. More than once she'd been bombarded by absurd visions. Him shirtless, suffocating her with his heat that left her twisted and tangled in her covers. Those images had to be incinerated.

Right. Good luck with that when the s.o.b. insisted on walking around her den-sized apartment half-naked on any given morning. She'd nearly had a heart attack the first time she waltzed into her kitchen only to encounter his muscular back exposed whilst he was busy flipping pancakes and scrambling eggs. Who in the hell said it was okay for him to prepare food in her house wearing only a pair of boxers?

"They're not here," she announced after a fruitless search.

"Pardon?" he called back.

"I said, I don't see them."

No answer.

Without warning, he appeared behind her. "You sure?" He leaned into her back, his arm stretching over her head to open the medicine cabinet. "Thought it was the last place I left them."

Her shoulders tensed and she clutched the sink to keep herself from arching back. "Yeah well, it's not." Her voice was suddenly hoarse.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, staring at her in the mirror. "Don't look too good."

"God Rick, I will make you a _pitcher_ of iced tea if you just go put on a shirt."

The handsome bastard smirked and leaned closer, lowering his lips to her ear. "You know, on second thought, maybe they're in my briefcase."

It was as though his voice stoked a fire in her belly.

She shoved past him, exiting the small room. "Okay, funny," she said, pointing a finger. "Now no iced tea for you."

¥###¥

As Michonne relocated to the recliner, on the opposite side of the room, Rick returned fully-clothed. He sunk into the couch, leaning his head back looking sideways at her.

"Going over figures for Siddiq?" he asked, "Or is it equipment maintenance this week?"

She glimpsed up at him. Again with the attention to minor details, it was disarming. "Neither."

"Something else? Well, isn't he lucky to have you." He smiled and she found her eyes drawn to his mouth.

"Not really. He did me a huge favor by promising me a job when I moved out here, so in return, I help him find ways to keep costs at a minimum, putting my business degree to good use."

"Think he'll mind if I stole you for our finance department?"

"No. But Negan will. Probably would accuse me of trying to rob the company blind."

"Probably," he agreed, "But who gives a damn? You could take over and run the whole thing and I'd help you."

She sputtered a laugh. "Yeah right. You know, I don't get you Rick Grimes."

He scratched his cheek. "Funny, I think you get me completely."

Okay. She didn't know how to respond to that. There wasn't any prominent exchange or conversation between them in her mind that she could grab onto for clarification.

"Is it okay if I said that?" he asked. "Didn't mean to put you on the spot, I just promised to be honest."

Michonne returned her gaze to her screen and shrugged. "It's fine." And of course it was fine, but damn it his openness and vulnerability would make things so much harder for her when the contract time period of living together ended and she wanted to part ways.

"What are you working on now?" he asked.

"Oh. No, I'm checking in with Heath over the sale of my gym. I got a buyer."

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "Some guy, ex-military. Heath says he sounds serious. Might have to take a trip back home to go meet and talk with him."

"That sounds great. Maybe I should come with you, make sure he's legit." He clicked the screen of his laptop. "Or we could do that now. You have a name?"

She went quiet.

He looked back at her and caught the hesitant expression on her face. "You didn't get a name?"

"I did. But um, I think I should handle this on my own," she hedged, "Not that I don't appreciate the offer, it's just you've already got so much on your plate." Half a lie. Half the truth. Same difference?

"Not so much that I can't be there for you as well. This was your father's business and you're letting it go because of me. That can't be easy."

"No, not because of you. Because I made a choice." One she didn't regret. And him worrying about this decision and how it affected her was unwarranted. "Don't beat yourself up over this. _I_ am handling it. Besides," she switched topics, "with what's going on with work, and with Shane...I'm not his biggest fan, but he is your brother and he's hurt and you should be there for him."

He looked at her quizzically. "I have been."

Crap. A dull ache filled her chest and she immediately wished she hadn't voiced her unsolicited opinion.

Ever since his brother got drunk and wrapped his car around a tree, Rick had a lot more responsibilities to take on over at the company. Including, but not limited to, the appointing of someone as their temporary Chief Stores Officer, until Shane completely recovered. Not to mention the numerous hospital visits, dealing with insurance agents, lawyers, doctors, and obtaining the best full-time care and rehab. But this was all done with a mechanical attitude.

He set aside his laptop, stood up, and wandered over to her.

Her gaze lifted to meet his head-on and his expression clearly indicated he wanted her to explain what the hell she meant.

"Maybe you could do more," she said, going brave, "Yes, he was reckless, but you love him and he needs you. You haven't been to the mansion to see him since he'd been discharged." She gestured towards the kitchen, "Your honey-mustard chicken from lunch today was out of this world."

He folded his arms. "As usual."

She rolled her eyes. "As usual. The rest I'd put in the green container in the fridge. Maybe you should carry the leftovers for Shane and check to see how he's doing."

He released a heavy sigh. "Michonne, now I appreciate your consideration, thank you. And it's nice, you tiptoeing around my feelings. Nice, but unnecessary." With an open palm, he encouraged her to stand up and she complied. "If you want me to stay out of your business, just say so. Tell me to back off and I'll understand. I won't push."

"That's not what I meant." That's exactly what she meant, at first.

"Be straight with me, Michonne. That's all I ask."

"Okay."

"And I'll be straight with you."

"Great."

"Perfect." He nodded towards her computer. "Just give me a heads up when you're heading out of town."

"Of course," she said softly, "Should be within a week."

"So soon? Well, hope it works out."

"I hope so too."

He forced a quick smile, and the silence drowned them.

Michonne folded her hands over each other. Mentally pushing her lungs to do their job and breathe. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? To maintain distance? So why did she feel nauseous?

Well, him looking introspective with his chin held high, staring down at her with a sharp, considering gaze had something to do with the turn in her stomach.

"Rick," She let out a breath, releasing a tension she hadn't noticed she'd been holding, and her shoulders slumped as her muscles relaxed. Brushing her hand over his hair before letting it rest on his shoulder, she said, "I meant every word I said about Shane. That wasn't bullshit."

He slid his hand over her fingers and gently squeezed. "I know."

An unwelcome sensation began to prickle beneath her flesh; not affection no, not really—that was preposterous—but a breath of something creeping towards it. Rick's thumb caressed her skin, sending a sudden jolt through her body. Finding it difficult to pull in oxygen, she drew back immediately.

No way was she going to drop her guard with this man again. Not when it came to her heart.

 _Jesus, be a fence, s_ he prayed in her mind.

Oh... speaking of Jesus, now was a really good time for a yoga session.

Or better yet, use Philip's number, give him a call. If Paul was right, and hopefully he was, it may not be such a bad idea. What's the worst that could happen?


	15. Sumthin' Sumthin'

**Chapter 15:**

 **Sumthin', Sumthin'**

No sooner had Jerry slammed on the brakes than Rick flung open his back door and jumped out.

"Boss, want me to stick around, just in case?" the dutiful employee called after him as Rick trotted away from the vehicle.

"Naw. Go on home," Rick yelled over his shoulder, "but thanks. See you bright and early in the morning."

As his bodyguard drove off, Rick sprinted up the short walkway dotted with small lights that lit the path in the dark, he pushed his keys into the lock and shoved his way through the front door. Immediately, he caught sight of Michonne. She was in the hallway, pacing back and forth with Carl wailing in her arms.

"Hey," she said, her tone tight with anguish.

"Hey." He dropped his briefcase by the door. "How is he?"

"Not too great. Did you get it?"

Rick held up the pharmacy bag containing the baby ibuprofen, before darting to the kitchen to mix some orange juice with the appropriate dosage.

Usually coming home from work, after ten hours of crunching numbers and ensuring sufficient cash flow to sustain the company's growth, Rick would be filled with anticipation. He'd prepare his mind to enter the apartment and be greeted by a great big welcoming smile. His son's pure enthusiasm and excitement had a way of breathing new life into Rick's fatigued soul.

Tonight, however, was the opposite.

Tonight, Rick was consumed with concern. Due to his latest bout with the flu, Carl was feverish, in pain, and completely miserable. It pained his heart to see his child helpless and afflicted. What he wouldn't give to bring the world to its knees just to have his boy's suffering end.

In the living room, Rick joined Michonne and together they administered the syrupy liquid, hoping the effects wouldn't take long to register in his system.

"Listen," she said, rocking Carl side to side, "I remembered you had a late night meeting with those foreign vendors, so I'm sorry again for interrupting you at work. "

"Stop." He shrugged off his jacket and slipped off his shoes. "I would've been upset if you didn't."

She nodded. "I really thought I'd restocked the medicine, I mean I was at the drugstore twice this week and I...I could have sworn I'd picked up a bottle."

"No. We both dropped the ball on this one, so don't beat yourself up over it. Here…" He lifted Carl from her, knowing the weight of his son's sturdy little body must have her arms feeling like lead. "Why don't you go to bed."

"Not yet," she said, rubbing circles on Carl's back, "Let him settle down first, then I can rest."

She looked frazzled. Eyes drawn, hair falling loose from its bun, robe disheveled and damp with tears. The effects of parenthood visibly taking its toll.

But she was still beautiful. Quietly resolute, strong, committed, and faithful.

Rick held his sobbing child tightly against his chest, laying Carl's heated little head on his shoulder as he swayed. "What's his temperature?"

She reached up and loosened Rick's tie for him. "Hasn't passed 100."

"And you're sure we shouldn't head to the emergency room?"

"I'm sure."

She moved to the kitchen and grabbed a glass, absently pressing it against the fridge dispenser filling it with water. One side of her robe slipped off her shoulder. She wore a white tank and his eyes narrowed in on the absence of lines underneath. He turned his back repulsed at himself for getting distracted. Mostly.

"Think I might need to cancel my trip home if his illness refuses to subside," she said, as she shuffled up behind him. "He can't go to daycare like this over the next few days."

"Don't," he said, facing her. "I'll take the time off."

Michonne took a sip of her water and touched the back of her hand to Carl's forehead. "You have the deadline to file your 10-Q coming up, plus, Regina's due date is soon, you can't afford to miss any of the time you've got left with her till she goes on leave. You have to be there."

"I have to be here," he said without missing a beat, and she nodded.

Everything she highlighted was true. Work at the moment was a handful and his controller could go into labor any day now, but his family was a priority.

"Accounts is staffed with over a dozen MBA's," he said, "they'll get by without me. Even if it's just for a couple of days. So you go. Do your thing. Or is it that you feel I can't handle it?"

Her head tilted and she smiled up at him. He tried like hell not to notice how pretty she looked with the downer light catching the glint in her eyes. His gaze dropped to her fitted top and saw a purple stain. Juice probably. As much as he was worried over Carl, he couldn't deny how much he liked her being this comfortable with him. Her concern for their little one took precedence and her guard was completely down. Rick wondered though, for how long.

He looked back up at her. She was staring. "What? What's that look?"

She laughed. "What look? I'm not giving you a look."

"Yeah, you are." He circled his finger in front of her face. "Right there."

She swatted his hand. "It's nothing, I'm just...I don't know, grateful. Carl and I, we got lucky. You're a great dad."

Rick's breath stopped, his heart size tripled.

He spent his days surrounded by Savannah's best financial and accounting minds all looking to him for direction and approval, but at that moment, with just four simple words Michonne made him feel ten feet tall.

"Uhh…I," he exhaled and inhaled again, "still have a long way to go before I figure this all out."

"But you want to Rick, so you're halfway there. More than, actually." She blushed and lowered her gaze. "You have no idea how much it means to me you having a willing spirit. I really admire you for it."

Just then, Carl raised his head with sleepy eyes. Though his chubby cheeks were still flushed, his overall fussiness had died down by a considerable degree.

As Rick took a seat on the recliner, stretching his legs out, Michonne moved to and fro, picking up toys from off the living room floor.

"Oh, the realtor called," she said, dumping them one by one into the toy chest. "He's got another place for us to look at. Up Benton Boulevard. He thinks it might be the one."

Rick readjusted his son, placing him in a cradled position. "That's what he said about the last three."

"I know. But Eugene sounds pretty excited about this apartment."

"Eugene? Excited? How can you tell?"

Michonne's lips curved into an amused smile. "Believe it or not, he was at a loss for words."

Rick chuckled. The peculiar man was the walking definition of a motor mouth.

"He said the waiting list is like a mile long." She threw off her robe before she climbed onto the couch.

Rick allowed his gaze to cruise her figure. She was wearing these yellow shorts with rubber duckies on them that were both adorable and sexy as hell.

From in between the cushions, she dug out Carl's favorite book _Goodnight Moon,_ along with a pen. Placing the story on the bookshelf, she walked to the door and slipped the pen into Rick's briefcase. It was his Montblanc. He thought he'd lost it at the office.

He watched as she returned and now went down on all fours, stretching beneath the sofa until she dragged out the purple dragon Carl got from Shane at Christmas as a joke. Rick really needed to get rid of that thing. The toy chest was overflowing enough as it was and soon Carl would need a whole room to himself to comfortably play in.

The wiggle of Michonne's fingers brought him out of his thoughts.

"What, what is it?" she asked, as he stared at her, contemplating.

"Still think we should get a house."

She stood up and groaned. "Rick..."

"You said the neighborhood in Redford Park is gorgeous."

"That was in passing. No," She waved off his comment. "I don't want that. Remember you said it was my choice, we have it in writing."

"It'll be perfect for us."

"But there is no…" she folded in her lips and drew in a deep breath to stop herself from finishing that sentence.

But it was too late. The disappointment Rick felt probably shone in his eyes, telling her he knew exactly what she was about to say.

 _But there is no us._

And she was right of course. Without Carl, Michonne would've taken off long ago at the very first chance she got. She fought against trusting Rick again to the point of giving their palpable attraction to each other a second chance. Meanwhile, his ache for her grew every single day.

She buried her face in both her palms and shook her head. "I'm really tired," she said, putting an immediate end to the near-argument.

He nodded. "Go. Rest. I'll stay up with him till he nods off, then I'll bring him in."

"Thank you." She sailed past him and shut her bedroom door.

* * *

Five minutes. Five minutes and then, if Michonne still hadn't shown up, Rick was going to call the goddamn Chief to put out an official APB to the state police and to the officers in the bordering states to track down her car.

"Maybe it's the directions," said Eugene Porter, who stood beside him outside Capital Creek's leasing office. "The signs after the turnoff are confusing and plain ole deplorable. You would think for a place this high end they'd make sure that potential residents would easily find it."

No, Rick knew it had nothing to do with the signs. Michonne was over a half-hour late because she'd made a decision to _be_ late.

For the past few weeks, she'd been evasive. More so than before. And not just evasive, she seemed unusually distracted, indifferent, sometimes even dismissive with him. He exhaled his frustration. If she was a no-show today, he wouldn't bother to go through with the appointment.

Fortunately, sixty seconds later, her Corolla pulled up, rolling into the visitor parking spot in front of the building.

"Sorry. Traffic." She jumped out of the car, sliding her shades to the top of her head. "Been here long?"

"Long enough. Just about to send the National Guard out to find you. What's the matter with your phone?"

"Oh, shoot!" She dragged the device out of her coat pocket. "Had it on silent during a meeting with clients. Forgive me?" She stood before him, flashing one of those wide smiles that light up her face bringing out a twinkle in her eyes.

As always he felt his heart skip a little. The terse irritation he felt from a second ago, evaporated into nothing. "I'll think about it," he teased, maintaining a scowl despite feeling compelled to smile at her in return. Her grin sank into a petulant frown. And he had no choice but to laugh. "Alright, alright. All is forgiven." He swiped his finger down her nose. "Just don't set me up again."

"I didn't. Traffic."

"Mmhm. If you say so Michonne."

She shrugged and passed him, following Eugene through the entrance to the pristine white and gray building. Rick caught her familiar flowery smell, and without shame, he sucked a lungful in.

She paused and spun around. "Did you just…"

As the door closed behind him he shrugged, feigning confusion. "What?"

She looked at him curiously and bit her lip. Suddenly self-conscious, Michonne fidgeted away from him. She then side-swept her hair over the front of her tan colored jacket, straightened the collar of her white shirt, and smoothed the creases of her red dress-pants.

She looked nice, casually formal.

Just then, a slender woman with short, pin-straight hair who looked to be about in her thirties, came out of an office door into the lobby. She approached them, shook their hands, and introduced herself as Melissa Cuddy: the property manager.

Ms. Cuddy's dark eyes shone with enthusiasm. "Well, Mr. Grimes, might I say it is an honor to have you and your...partner, consider us as a choice to reserve your new home." Her prominent high cheekbones lifted even higher with her wide smile.

Michonne stiffened beside him. "No, actually—"

"Actually," Rick clipped Michonne's protest as he slid his arm around her body, resting his hand possessively on her hip, "we're engaged."

Eugene dropped him a questioning look.

Ms. Cuddy's face softened with endearment and a measure of relief, as she clutched her chest. "Aww, how lovely. Congratulations! Do you have a set date yet?" She anchored her attention onto Michonne, whilst Rick distinctly felt Michonne shooting daggers at him. He kept his head straight.

He didn't know what got into him—to be so brazen—but he didn't give a damn. Maybe it was to avoid Cuddy's not-so-subtle curiosity. Maybe it was a bit of payback for Michonne making him wait. "I was thinking closer to Christmas," he lied, feeling smug, "but Missy here insists on getting hitched in June. Typical."

As he chuckled, the light pressure of Michonne's hand crept beneath his suit jacket, to the center of his back. Then came a sharp pain, as she dug her nails into his skin.

He winced. Good Lord she's strong, but he grit his jaw and bore it, even tightening his hold around her waist.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Cuddy sympathized, "You two have an aura, like you work well together. I mean even your outfits are very telling."

He glanced down at his dark blue suit (one of many) and somewhere, from the recesses of his mind, he recalled being told that red and blue compliment each other. In any case, by the time he'd left home that morning, she still wasn't dressed. "Thanks. Coincidence?"

"Nah. Anyway, you'll find we have quite a number of _diverse_ families here at Crest." She glanced at her tablet and angled her head. " _Mick-on_ is it?"

Michonne smiled a little too brightly. "No, it's _Mish-own_."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Well, how unusual."

"More like unique." Rick's hand snuck its way beneath Michonne's hair and slid around, caressing the side of her neck. He pressed his lips against her temple, and she gasped.

With a smirk he looked back at Ms. Cuddy, she was blooming red. "Right. Well, let's get started, shall we?"

¥###¥

Ms. Cuddy was excited to share with them _the luxurious three-bedroom, two-bathroom, move-in ready home,_ her precise words, not Rick's. As they walked through the first floor though, he noted the impressive hardwood floors, as well as the warm and inviting living area. It came equipped with an electric fireplace and a built-in Bluetooth speaker system for surround sound and entertainment.

Eugene, as per usual, meticulously stopped and checked every nook and cranny, asking a million and one questions as he's paid to do. Meanwhile, Rick's fake bride-to-be was silent.

He slipped his hand in hers. "You okay?" They followed behind the manager into the open concept kitchen and dining room.

Michonne dropped her gaze to where their fingers interlaced. "Sure. Why?"

He bent, and his mouth hovered just below her ear. "You're here, but your mind is some place else."

"You're right," she whispered, "Sorry."

He nodded and returned his attention to Ms. Cuddy's pitch about the seating area, bathed in natural light, being perfect for hosting family and friends.

"It's just, this place feels strange somehow." Michonne looked out onto the patio in front of them. "How come there's no one else around? Not a single tenant outside." She looked back to the living room. "It's too perfect."

Michonne always had—frighteningly—keen insight, on top of being cool, calm and collected, but now that he was paying closer attention, her shoulders were tight, and her hand clutched his. He thought her palm was getting clammy. _She's panicked_ , he realized, and suddenly her mood at the new apartment made sense.

He gave her a quick squeeze. "We can leave, if that's what you want."

"No," A small smile curled her lips, yet not quite reaching her eyes, "let's stay." She placed her head on his shoulder, her other hand landed flat against his stomach. right above his belt.

He was momentarily left speechless. It wasn't real, he knew that, but her touch was endearing.

Warmth and desire ripped through him like gunfire.

"Come on up." After fielding more of Eugene's intense CIA-worthy line of questioning, Cuddy led them to the second floor. They hit a bright and spacious landing, with grey carpeting, a blue and green Persian inspired rug, and a large mirror above a couple of decorative vases that added a gorgeous finishing touch.

One by one she waltzed them through the different rooms, giving details on sizes and amenities.

"And this is for guests," Cuddy said, opening a door to a third bedroom. "Or...for baby number two."

Rick grinned, tapping Michonne on the tummy. "We're working on it."

The assuming woman winked. "I can tell."

"Sweetie," Michonne, in turn, slapped him on his abdomen. Hard. He felt the wind rush out of him. "you know we're not supposed to talk about that."

"Right," he choked out, "Wouldn't want to jinx it."

¥###¥

Given privacy for a few minutes, Rick watched Michonne scrutinize the upscale apartment as though the place was boobie-trapped. The real estate professionals had returned to the office, negotiating the possible terms of the lease, should he choose to move into the luxury complex.

Rick settled onto the barstool at the breakfast nook, admiring the sand-colored, granite countertop. "You sure you don't like it here?" The kitchen alone was three times the size of hers. If anything, the mahogany wine rack by itself should have been the selling point.

She peeked inside the solid maple cupboards. "There's carpet in the bedrooms."

"Not a big deal." He'll pay to have them removed.

Next.

"It's secure, it's quiet, and work isn't that far," he said. "And you have to admit that the fitness center across the courtyard is a bonus feature."

He got a lip-shrug for an answer, as she ran her fingertips along the edges of the stainless steel appliances.

"The minimum on the contract is a year," he continued, undeterred. "We could try it out, maybe it's a good fit."

She wandered back to the opposite side of the counter and gave him a look.

Smiling, Rick reached out, taking hold of her wrist, and gently pulled her around to stand between his knees. "Sweetheart, tell me what's wrong."

"It's just us, so stop." She brushed his hand off.

He frowned, disappointed that their little game was over. Painful as it was, he rather enjoyed himself. "We agreed to do this, didn't we?"

"We did."

"But?"

She hesitated. "I'm not convinced we really need to go through with it."

Her uncertainty was not a revelation to him. He'd perceived her discomfort all along. However, with all things considered, weren't things good between them?

"Thought we were finally on track?" he asked.

"For now, yeah. But how can you be so sure about making this permanent? The truth is, sirens have been going off in my head and I don't want to ignore them."

"Never took you for a pessimist."

"I'm not. I'm a realist. _This_ is a tricky situation."

He fixed a careful smile on his face. However, that fell flat after two seconds. "So you feel differently about things? About me?"

"I do."

A sudden wave of nausea hit him.

She swiped her fingertips over her brow. "Rick, there are two months left on the contract. We should wait till after to make such a huge decision."

"Okay yeah. You're right. All of this, it's scarier than we thought it would be. But we're doing it. We've been doing it. For Carl."

"Yes, but what about me?" she said softly. "I'm not gonna lie to you but this hasn't been easy for me."

His hands daringly crept up to her waist and, although she shifted a bit, this time she didn't push him away. "How?"

She glanced sideways, thoughtful. Her warm hands found their way to his shoulders and she said with an unsteady breath, "It's too complicated."

He stood up in front of her, leaned close, and dropped his hands to her lower back. In response, she tensed her muscles, and shivered, tightening her grip on him.

"Then tell me how to make it easy," he said.

"S-Slow down." Her voice shook. "There's no need to rush. Carl and I aren't going anywhere, that should be obvious by now. Honestly, Rick, I am devoted to our son, I am. But this," she gestured between them, "is way more than I bargained for."

He narrowed his eyes, he didn't expect for her to go there, to be the one to direct the conversation that way. But he was ready for it.

His knuckles swiped the line of her jaw, tilting her chin up. "This won't work if we're not on the same page. I'm just happy is all...and selfish," he openly confessed, "we have a well-oiled machine going and I don't want it to end."

"I know."

Did she? He wondered. Did she truly have any idea?

"Still, I won't force you to do something you're simply not ready to commit to." Which was contrary to the way he'd behaved months ago, right after he'd found out Carl was his own. Now, however, Rick was earnestly trying to be better.

Unbidden, her palms drifted down, towards his chest, and she gently toyed with the buttons on his shirt. Like hell. What was she doing? His body pulsated and it was no surprise how good the intimacy felt. He snaked his arms around her, drawing her closer to savor the moment.

She never rushed to speak, this woman. Dark brown eyes searched his before she quietly said, "Tell me we'll figure this out."

"We will." He pressed a small kiss on the tip of her nose.

She licked her lips. Fire sparked low in his belly.

"Thank you," she said, "for understanding."

He glanced down to where her fingers stroked him, his desire for her stirring as he tried like hell to think up some lie. Something convincing. But all he came up with was: "Sure."

She stared at him for several agonizing beats, and he noted how her breathing accelerated. The rapid rise and fall of her chest matched his own difficulty with inhaling sufficient oxygen. He could see the longing. Feel the connection. That energy buzzing like a live wire between them, ready to ignite. But with that, there's conflict, plainly written all across her face. Between what she wanted to do and what she thought she shouldn't do.

 _Dammit._

With much reluctance, he let her go. That vulnerable look she wore made him feel a twinge of guilt.

"Hey," he said, "You hungry? Wanna grab something to eat at _Belford's_? Maybe we could discuss this a little longer."

She looked at him surprised, just as confused as he was. What the actual crap was he doing?

She cleared her throat and stepped around him. "No. I should get back." She grabbed her bag from off the counter. "Siddiq's waiting."

"Okay." He stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. "What about tonight then? Reservations at _Vic's_? If you're feeling adventurous we could try the grilled octopus."

"Um." Her eyes squeezed shut, and she shook her head as though something in her mind suddenly popped up. "Actually, I can't. I have plans."

"Plans? What kind of plans? You and Paul gonna hit the gym again?"

She tugged the strap onto her shoulder, whilst glimpsing up and away. "No," she said in a careful, quiet voice, "It's something else. It's _someone_ else. I kind of have a date tonight. Not a big thing, just meeting at a bar for drinks."

Not a big thing? Then why in the hell did a bomb just go off inside his chest?

"Rick?"

"No, that's good. That's good. That's…" Disturbing. Disappointing. Infuriating. But he said none of that when she tried to confirm his true feelings.

"Yeah?" Her brows hiked up with hopeful relief.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." He folded his arms and paused, considering how best to be tactful without coming across as unduly curious about her personal affairs.

He got nothing.

"Actually, scratch that. No, that's definitely not a good thing. Not by a long shot. When did this even happen?"

She moved past him out of the kitchen and straight for the exit. "Just an acquaintance I met when I first moved here. His name's Philip, we've been talking, texting for a few weeks now."

"And?"

"And I was biding my time Rick." She grabbed the key card from the side table and clicked the door open. "Look, it's nothing serious, it didn't make sense to distract you with something so frivolous."

She turned, rushing out of the apartment.

"Michonne, wait," he shouted after her.

She stalked down the pathway, rounding the corner back to the office.

As he chased after her he started laughing. A low rumbling chuckle rolled out, and he had no friggin' clue why. Then again, as he thought about it, that wasn't true, because he did. Here he was planning a future with this woman, and she's looking to hook-up with some random guy, going out on some random goddamned "frivolous" date.

The thought of her touching someone else with the same tenderness, the thought of her interested in someone else at all, made his heart pound with anger. Couldn't she see that he cared about her? Couldn't she see that he still wanted her?

Of course, she did, or else she would've been more cavalier about broaching this topic, right? On some level, she'd considered his feelings, but it ended there apparently—the extent of her sentiment for him.

He grabbed her elbow and spun her around. "Why are you doing this?"

"What am I doing? I said we're just gonna hang out and I won't be long, so relax. Please, don't make a big deal out of this."

His stomach cringed. "Okay, here's what's gonna happen: I'll arrange for Jerry to drop you off and pick you up."

"No!" She looked mortified at his suggestion. "Seriously? I don't need Jerry to babysit me."

"At least tell me which bar."

She breathed in deep, obviously weighing the risks of sharing further details with him. " _Callahan's Kitchen._ For seven. Okay?"

He didn't respond.

Everything inside of him was screaming for him to grab her. To yell at her and to kiss her all at once, like he should've done minutes ago. But that was the old Rick. This new and improved version was learning to be patient. To strike a balance. Not that he was doing a very good job at it right then, but damn she caught him by surprise.

"Rick, please?"

"Okay," he said, after a lengthy moment. "But when you come home to me, you and I are gonna finish our talk. Deal?"

She nodded, handed him the key, and took off without saying another word.

On his way to locate Eugene, Rick, off the cuff, made a phone call before he talked himself out of it. After the second ring, the call was picked up and he didn't wait for a hello.

"I need a favor," Rick blurted before they got a chance to breathe a single word. "Whatever you got going on tonight, cancel it. Something's come up."


	16. Oh What a Night

**Chapter 16:**

 **Oh What a Night**

They were sitting in _Callahan's._ Philip Blake was polishing off his second lager, whilst Michonne steadily nursed her single glass of Port wine. The crowd around them consisted of thirty-something-year-old professionals, with jackets off and collars unbuttoned, a bit rowdy releasing stress at the end of another work week.

From the moment Michonne had walked in, she was struck by the elegance of the establishment. The interior was moderately-lit, cavernous, a mesh of earth tones, with polished hardwood floors, exposed brick walls, and splashes of carpet. A long sleek bar ran the length of one side, plush sofas on the other, and stylish tables and chairs to the back. That's where she found him. His long, wiry form curled into a seat, at the table furthest from the door next to the bar. When she asked if this was his regular haunt, he'd shrugged and said, only on occasion.

"I take it this is a test run," he said, after some time.

Michonne lifted her eyes from her wine glass and looked across at her date. "In a way."

Philip Blake drummed his fingers on the surface of the dining table. "And? What's the verdict? Did I pass?" His smug grin said, of course he did. "You're the kind of woman that gets noticed, you know that. You walk into a room and everyone looks up. That's the type of lady I need in my life."

Michonne half chuckled, half sighed. She liked a man with confidence, yes, but Phillip's self-assuredness was tiring—less charismatic and more pedestrian. His conventional good-looks no doubt worked in his favor, but his arrogance kept smudging the supposed picture of composure.

Mind you, conversation for the past…(she checked her watch) forty-five minutes had in fact been engaging enough, hardly punctuated by awkward silences.

However, twice the remarks he'd made were so blatantly offensive she'd cringe with embarrassment. First about the inefficiency of a disabled subordinate; second about the neediness of his elderly neighbor. And she wondered, _where the hell did this son-of-a-bitch grow up?_ How could someone make such ignorant statements and then smile them away as though they were simple facts and therefore, there was no need for further explanation?

So to answer his original question: No, absolutely not. He didn't pass.

Nonetheless, she replied, "Hmm, you're still on the clock."

He signaled to the curvy waitress in passing and requested a sample of their draft, only to scrunch his nose at it before ordering yet another Innis and Gunn. Michonne rolled her eyes. Why didn't he just ask for what he knew he already wanted, because it simply came across as pretentious. He's a manager in a home improvement store, for crying out loud, not a certified beer connoisseur. Of course, she opted not to comment on his self-deception, all she knew was, for a certainty Rick wouldn't have been concerned about impressing anyone, he would've stuck to his bourbon.

She took a gulp of wine to mask her annoyance. Though her words flowed effortlessly out of her mouth, her thoughts, on the other hand, wrestled back and forth, interrupting her focus. Why was it that no matter what, she couldn't dispel Rick Grimes from her head? It proved to be a formidable undertaking and not even the growing cacophony of lively voices, as more and more patrons filed in, was much of a diversion. Nor were the tap-tapping of glasses on wooden surfaces, or the increasing volume of the background music. The date in its entirety was not producing the desired effect.

"Are you licensed to carry arms?" Philip then asked.

She arched her brow. "No. Can't say that I am."

"No? Why ever not? You're a citizen of this country, aren't you?"

"Let me guess, you're a regular down at the gun range."

He chuckled and swigged his beer. "Something like that, yeah. It's my right."

"It is."

"Gotta protect what's mine."

"Sure."

He leaned his forearms onto the table. His sweating bottle nestled between his elbows. "It's been what...twenty years since I took my first shot? You know I was lucky enough to be introduced to the marvels of shooting at an early age. Then my uncle, who's ex-military, trained me and helped me to improve my marksmanship. Thank god I'm American."

"Mm, thank God."

A couple came in right then and sat behind her. The guy was prattling on about his nephew's first trip to the dentist when Michonne picked up the familiar scent of his cologne. Familiar, yet different. It was more woodsy than the one Rick favored. Her mind immediately lurched back, pulling her away, once again, from the present moment. She thought about earlier, to their tour of the luxury apartment. To the way his warm body moved alongside hers with his arm suited perfectly around her waist. To their discussion afterward, followed by that moment where he seemed to want to kiss her and, more pointedly, how disheartened she felt when he didn't.

Philip moved forward, lowering his voice. "How about I let you in on a little secret. I happen to have one right now."

 _Have what?_ she wondered, before recalling the topic of discussion. Her eyes narrowed. For a while she said nothing. Did nothing. Her stomach tightened and burned a little. She supposed it was because of not eating anything except an energy bar well over eight hours ago, but it wasn't.

"No, you don't," she eventually murmured.

He indicated for her to look beneath the table. His pant leg was drawn up and she saw a sliver of something metal. She slowly looked back at him and he said, "Gotta be prepared. Always. That's what my old man used to say."

 _Check, please!_

Right when they paid their tab, got up, eased their chairs back in, and weaved towards the exit, she spotted Negan. He was descending from, what she assumed to be the VIP section, upstairs on the second floor. And he wasn't alone. With him was a female friend—a curly haired Latina wrapped around him like a belt.

Michonne and Negan saw each other infrequently. And not without a double dose of displeasure. Whenever she'd indulged Rick by accompanying him and Carl on their weekend visits to the estate, she made it a point to ignore the looks of suspicion from his brothers. Not even commenting on Sherry's lengthy absence, as Rick had told her once that the young woman went to aid her ill cousin in California, but that was two months ago.

Now an insincere look of surprise crossed Negan's features when he recognized Michonne, yet he waved and smiled with enthusiasm from a distance. She wasn't inclined to return the favor. Her face remained stoic. She thought for sure Rick must have sent him.

Fingers gripped her elbow. Philip, taking note of where her attention had landed, started bad-mouthing Negan in his three-piece Italian suit.

"Guys like that," he said, watching as the club's manager came out to schmooze with Negan, "I guess some women easily fall for his type. But it's all a facade. Those guys...they're nothing. Don't have a clue about the real world."

Though she suspected his animosity stemmed from plain old envy, she agreed.

¥###¥

Walking out from the stuffy bar into the open night's air, right away Michonne felt her anxiety dampened by the coolness. During the less-than-two minutes trot around the corner towards her vehicle, there was no exchange of niceties between them because they both knew that this dire social engagement was a one-time thing, never to be repeated.

At least _she_ was convinced of it.

With her car keys and phone now in hand, Michonne noticed a large group of people pouring out of the parking lot across the street. They were laughing and goofing around, clearly enjoying each other's company, and she assumed they'd be out drinking till the wee hours in the morning. Absently, she mentioned the long day her and Rick planned with Carl tomorrow, which would start off with a visit to the pediatrician followed by a quick stop at _Kid's Foot Locker_ and _Yogurtland_ at—

Phillip abruptly kissed her mid-sentence and she froze. After a brief moment of shock, her reflexes kicked in and she pushed him off and slapped him.

"Don't," she said, wiping away his cold spit from off her mouth.

His face flared red. His body stiffened. And all warmth drained from his eyes.

Before she could disarm her car and jump in, he snatched her by her collar, said something about her being like a wild horse to be broken in, to be tamed, and that he liked a challenge. He slammed her back against the door which sent a stabbing pain straight to her head, then he leaned his taller, heavier frame into her and pinned her wrists between their bodies. She struggled against him, told him—shouted at him—to stop, thinking for sure he'd come to his senses and he'd back down because of course no one in their right mind would attempt an assault like this out in the open, where a person or a car was bound to pass at any given moment. But clearly, he wasn't, because he didn't. He _wouldn't_ stop. Plus, he had a weapon. Did he intend to use it? She fought against the hot breath on her neck, the wet tongue on her skin and the sharp teeth pressing in.

"Philip no!" With all her strength she shoved him off. Hard enough so that her knee could spring upward.

Upon impact, he stumbled back, doubled over, and spat out, "Bitch."

Her arm swung forward and she connected her fist to his right eye. "No, you're the bitch." She then dropped him to the ground with a swift kick to his ribs. She heard a crack.

"Hey!" Someone yelled from across the street. "What the hell is going on here?"

She looked up, her vision blurred then sharpened as long legs jogged over to her. A pit formed in her stomach.

It was Negan.

She tried her best to stop shaking, but the adrenaline was gushing through her veins. He reached for her shoulder, but with a jerky movement, she drew back. He peered down at her handiwork: Philip was balled up, hissing curses at her whilst groaning in pain.

Negan's gaze scanned her. "Goddammit Michonne, are you together with this guy?"

"God no!" Her voice was wispy with breathlessness. "I hardly know this asshole." She pressed a hand against her chest, trying to regain control of her breathing.

Moments passed before she allowed Negan to lead her a few feet away.

With her back to her car, she asked, "What are you doing here? Are you spying on me for Rick?"

He denied it. "You think my little brother is some neurotic, paranoid, jealous neanderthal?"

Out of nowhere her insides hollowed out. "You mean, he didn't? Really?" Her face burned with stark disappointment. Then confusion muddled her brain as to why. Why was she disappointed?

"Oh damn," that annoying grin of his stretched his smug-looking face, "You want him to be jealous, don't you?"

"Don't be absurd, Negan," she murmured, "You know nothing."

"That's not true, I know some things. And that look on your face just now...well, sweetheart," he clicked his tongue, "it's clear you're not being honest with yourself."

"Would you shut up and help me with that guy?"

"You're gonna help him?"

"Think I broke his ribs. I'll have to call 9-1-1." She dug into her pockets for her phone but couldn't find it. She swung around, there it was smashed to pieces on the asphalt. Everything happened so fast she vaguely recalled it dropping from her fingers. She heard something rip though, her gaze lowered and, sure enough, her blouse had been torn.

"Well aren't you all noble and shit. That's sweet, it is. But no."

"Negan, yes. I can't just leave him here, not like this. He may be a monster but I've got something called a conscience. Do you?"

He observed her trembling hands and she fisted them. "Fine," he said, "But I'll do it. You...you should get out of here. Now."

She didn't argue.

Sitting in her car, she looked up at Negan as he leaned one arm on the roof, hunching over her window. "Promise me not to say anything to Rick," she said.

"About you being in love with him, or what happened with Mr. Rapist over there?"

Her stomach dipped so fast and so hard she'd lost her breath. "No."

"No what?"

"No, I'm not playing this game with you." Michonne cared about Rick, she could admit that to herself. There were no ifs or buts about it, she simply did. But Negan was wrong. "Forget you even saw me tonight."

"Yeah, that's not happening. Either you tell him you got attacked, or I will. And trust me it'll be worse if he hears it from me."

"Will it? He'll just think you were back to your old game of trying to disparage me."

He laughed. "See, I was right about you. You got my brother wrapped around your finger, don't you?"

Without saying goodnight she turned her ignition on and drove off.

As she navigated the unfamiliar streets, she took her time reading every road sign not to miss her exit and get lost. When she got closer to her neighborhood, she earnestly contemplated whether or not to come out and confess how the date took a turn for the worse.

The last thing she wanted was to have Rick feel sorry for her or to see her as a victim who needed his protection. No, she wanted him to continue to respect her. His perception of the type of person she was, needed to remain unblemished. She didn't want him to think of her as someone not possessing proper, sound judgment—as an incompetent woman who would naively put herself at risk. Because, as God was her witness, she was not that girl anymore.

 _It isn't your fault_ , she then reminded herself. _It was never your fault. This. Is not. Your fault._

Still, her insides crumpled like tissue at the mere thought of Rick looking at her with pity. For him to look down at her, to think poorly of her in _any_ sort of way, would be unbearable. As Carl's dad, his opinion mattered. Of course, it did, because Rick was kind, and smart, and thoughtful, and benevolent, and so patient, and amazing, and…

And...

She slammed on the brakes.

 _Oh my god. Oh. My god._

"No," she gasped, "No I..." Realization hit her like a bucket of freezing, cold water. Her heart banged like a devil inside her chest. "No."

 _Yes. He is so patient, and amazing, and you love him for it! You're completely head over heels, dead in the water, in love with Rick._

"Shit!" Michonne dropped her head onto the steering wheel. "Shit shit shit." She smacked her palm repeatedly against the leather then her entire body went limp, heavy with exhaustion.

¥###¥

Less than fifteen minutes later, she came home, dragging herself through the front door, and found both Rick and Carl sound asleep on the couch. Little Grimes stretched out on top of Papa Grimes, mouth open drooling away on his father's chest. With Animal Planet still on the tv, and the living room floor littered with Carl's things—giant legos, stuffed animals, and Abc blocks—everything looked the usual.

Michonne, however, felt different.

Without disturbing his father, she gently lifted Carl up. She took him to her room and quietly placed him in his bed. Then, she went into her linen closet, retrieved a fresh blanket which she unfolded and lightly draped over Rick.

Afterward, she changed into her robe. She decided to discard her pink satin top, which was now destroyed because of that disgusting cretin, and quietly slipped into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar in case Carl woke up.

Whilst assessing the damage to her neck, bruised and plum colored from the bite, she hoped the reminder of how vicious some men could be wouldn't be too visible for too long, at most maybe a week. She swung the medicine cabinet door open. On the top shelf was a small ziplock bag packed with the basics for minor injuries. As she reached for the first aid supplies, closing the cabinet again, she gasped while her body jerked forward at the unexpected sight of Rick standing there in the doorway, watching her in silence.

Her fingers clutched the robe shut at her throat.

"You scared me," she said.

"Sorry," he apologized, his voice hoarse with sleep. "Didn't hear you come in." He rubbed his hand over his forehead, pushing away the curls from his beautiful eyes. "How was it?"

"It was okay." The lie wasn't on purpose. Her answer, like a knee-jerk response, was automatic. Not that she had any intention of sharing details, but still it was as though her newfound awareness of her true feelings for him made it impossible for her to barely look him in the eye.

Rick leaned his shoulder against the frame, staring at her intently. "Think you might see him again?"

She swallowed against the thick lump in her throat. "Probably not." Her grip tightened on the sealed plastic bag and Rick's gaze lowered to her hands.

"Michonne?"

"Yeah?"

He hesitated, folding his toned arms. "You being straight with me?"

"Yes, Rick. I'm being straight with you." She wanted to throw up. He moved closer and she stumbled back against the shower door. His presence, not only filled the room but every fiber of her being.

He looked her over and heat engulfed her body, through and through. Jesus, she wasn't sure how much more of this she could take.

"I'm not sorry to say this," he confessed quietly as he touched her cheek, "but I'm relieved you came home early."

"I...I promised you I would." She was annoyed and embarrassed by her nervousness as her voice shook. "But I'm tired, and I want to just take a shower, then get some rest, so..."

He nodded, taking the hint that she wanted to be left alone. "Good night then."

"Yeah. Good night."

She breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he was gone, the door clicking closed behind him. But also she yearned to fold herself so that she could feel the rock-solid firmness of him and find comfort in his arms. Of course, she was certain now there was no chance—no chance in hell—she would sleep a wink that night. The instant she shut her eyes, those damned dreams of him would ravage her mercilessly.


	17. Oh It Ain't Over

**Chapter 17:**

 **Oh It Ain't Over.**

Rick waited in the hallway for a full minute until he heard the shower turn on. Knowing, without a doubt, that something wasn't right, he stalked back to the living room, snatched up his phone and dialed his brother.

"Hey," Negan answered, "Is she home?"

"Yes. She's here."

"Good."

Rick sat on the edge of the couch. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Come on, don't start with me. I asked you for a favor."

"And I fulfilled that favor bro, as ridiculous as it was. You said to scope the guy out, and I did. I had my eye on them both the entire time. Well...mostly."

"What does that mean, mostly?"

"Nothing. It's just that Frederick wanted to chit chat just as Michonne and her date were leaving. But that was for a minute or two. I caught up with her right after and…"

"And what?"

Negan sighed. "Look, we spoke for a bit, her and I, before she got into her car and drove off okay, I mean I was casual about us running into each other but...Listen, Fratello, did you talk to her? I think it would be better if you just talked to her, rather than calling me."

Rick gritted his teeth and walked to his bedroom, closing his door in case he raised his voice to a level where she could overhear him. "I tried. Of course, I did. But she seemed nervous. I sort of cornered her so she didn't say much, just that it went okay. She didn't even mention you."

"Huh."

Rick pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyelids. "Come on, Negan. Think you can give me more than that. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"You know what Ricky boy, tonight could have been avoided if this game between you two—"

"What game? There is no game."

"Yes, there is. You think I'm stupid? As a matter of fact, I don't understand why you're so hung up on her. This is way too complicated. You keep hassling yourself over this chick, who, let's be honest has a penchant for hoarding secrets."

"Oh like we're ones to talk."

"That was different and you know it."

Suddenly, another voice spoke up in the background. "Hey boss, this spot right here?"

"Hold on one second," Negan said to Rick, "Yeah Jed. Here's perfect. Just roll that piece of shit out. He'll find his way...eventually."

They laughed.

Rick was stunned. "What the hell are you up to? On second thought, forget it I don't want to know."

"Oh yes, you do. But don't worry, you'll thank me for it later." Negan then hung up.

Rick stared blankly at the disconnected call in his darkened room, wondering what the hell was that about? Thank Negan for what? Why was he being so vague?

He shook his head, stumped, agitated and frustrated all at once. With his brother. With Michonne. And most of all, with himself.

On the other side of the apartment, the water locked off. Without thinking he pulled his door open, strode out into the living room, and back through the kitchen, positioning himself again in the corridor.

Whatever was going on, he had to get to the bottom of it. However, he knew he needed to make the first step.

His uncoordinated pursuit of Michonne was getting him nowhere. Negan, as much as Rick hated to admit it, was right—he'd resorted to idiotic schemes, rather than being an adult and forthright about his feelings because he was terrified he would scare her off. Michonne was so strong yet so fragile, it wouldn't take much.

"We need to talk," he announced as soon as she stepped out. She was squeezing water from her hair with her towel. "I know you're tired," he was tired too, "but there's something I have to confess about tonight."

She paused and blinked slowly at him. "Confess? About tonight? "

"Yeah." He put his elbow on the wall and pushed his hand into his hair. "Negan, he was there at the bar, because I sent him."

To his surprise, her mouth twisted into a smirk. "Hmph. I thought you did," she said, walking over to him.

"Yeah?" he said, relieved. "I got a little crazy. Let myself get carried away thinking about you alone with some guy. I'm sorry about that."

"You don't need to be." Glancing away, with a contemplative look, she whispered, "Negan was... him being there, I didn't mind."

Okay, he wasn't expecting that. "You didn't? How come?"

She folded in her lips, a slight frown furrowing her brow. He observed a distant look pass over her face that spoke of apprehension and he reached for her shoulder.

"Michonne, if there's one thing I've come to understand about you is your hatred for lying. It makes you physically ill when you try to do it yourself. Right now, you look like you need to sit down or else you'll vomit. I saw it earlier but I didn't want to push."

She dropped her arms, fell back against the wall in front of him, defeated. "But you do now?"

He stood straight and crowded her. "No. I'd prefer if you tried to be open with me. Of your own accord."

She stared down at the damp fabric in her hands, and without realizing it, her robe pulled apart just enough to give him a glimpse of a white bandage at the crook of her neck.

Gently, he tugged the collar aside, exposing her plaster in full. She looked up and took a hold of his wrist. He let his hand slide into hers and held it firmly.

"It's just a scratch," she said quietly and clearly.

Was this scratch what Negan hinted at? Rick wondered as he felt his chest tighten, his jaw clenched. If so, he hoped his brother kicked the guy's teeth in. Not wanting to become overwhelmed by an intense need to leave that very moment, find that guy and beat him within an inch of his life, Rick decided to follow Michonne's lead.

"You know, I think at this point we could at least call each other friends," he said, "So if you need to talk about anything other than our son, I'd be okay with that."

"I know."

He nodded. "No judgment."

She hesitated. "You're right, I lied. About Philip and our date. It wasn't any good. Like, at all. Did you talk to Negan?"

"I did. He told me that I should talk to you." He stepped back and released her hand, gauging her.

"Rick, I don't want you to worry," she said, "Look at me, I'm fine." She leaned off the wall and moved around him.

"Not worry? I don't see how I can help that."

As she walked towards the kitchen, he trailed behind, watching as she threw the towel into the washer before strolling into the living room straightening things that didn't need to be straightened.

"You're just being stubborn."

"And you are so…" she groaned and shook her head, "Okay. First of all, I thought about you the whole time, without even trying you kept popping up in my head, which was frustrating."

"Geez, I'm so sorry to hear that."

She scoffed at his false apologetic tone. "No you're not."

"No, I'm not. " He folded his arms, smiling. "And second?"

She wandered to the narrow bookshelf, lining up the spines of his novels. "Second, he, Philip, got aggressive. At the end. Took me completely by surprise." She chose not to expound on the details, probably trusting he'd fill in the blanks. "But I handled it."

Rick clamped down his emotions. The way she shrugged off the encounter, the fact that she intended not to mention it at all, spoke volumes to him about her character. She didn't want to be fussed over. She didn't want to be questioned, period. This just reinforced his notion that she was a prideful woman.

There were no other signs of harm, as far as he observed, and he was thankful for that, thankful also that she was home and not in some hospital. She had a mean hook, he knew that, knew of her ability to physically defend herself. Still, there was anger. He had half a mind to never let Michonne out of his sight again. Yes, she's got this warrior spirit, but he wanted to be the one to keep her safe.

"I won't be seeing him again," she glanced at him over her shoulder, "obviously."

"Good. You shouldn't." He stepped to her and when she faced him he asked, "You need me to make a phone call?"

"No. As I said, I handled it and I'm okay. Besides, I left him with your brother. What are you, the mafia?" she teased.

"You know I can't reveal that information to you."

"Or else you'd have to kill me?" she whispered.

"Something like that." He grinned and reached out, brushing her hair away from her neck. "But then, there would be one less beautiful woman in the world. And well I can't have that—not seeing your face every day?"

He blushed, expecting her to laugh at his corny statement but she didn't, she went quiet and stared up at him, her gaze soft, giving the impression that she was accessible. Something had changed.

Not giving it a second thought, he roped his arms around her waist and coaxed her closer. Her hands instinctively reached up and flattened against his chest. Meeting Michonne forced him to make adjustments. She made him strike a balance, and made him introspective.

"I'm glad you're okay," he said. Leaning forward, he caressed his lips just behind her ear. "You know how much I care about you. You know how much I still want you." She didn't give a response. And he didn't need one.

He grazed his teeth along her jaw and kissed her cheek, her nose, then settled lightly on her mouth. A small noise escaped her as he nipped on her bottom lip. He smiled and moved his kisses down her neck, across her throat, and up to her other ear. He needed to do this, to show her tenderness after being mistreated tonight. More than that, he simply needed her. He had for a very long time.

His hands roamed up her back enjoying the feminine contours of her shape through the thin fabric. "What exactly about me were you thinking of, on your date?"

Her arms snaked up, crisscrossing behind his neck and her body relaxed into his. "Everything." She touched his face, tracing a path along his jaw. "It was impossible to stop, you were sending me crazy."

He sighed. "Now you know the torture I've been going through."

They laughed together at his lamentation. Rick kissed her on her forehead, rubbing his lips side to side, breathing in her floral scent. He didn't know what he did in his past life to deserve this—this satisfying ease between them—and he chose not to question it. He tilted his head to comfortably fit his lips over hers. When Michonne sank her hands into his hair, he tightened his grip and he kissed her hard, capturing her mouth completely.

He remembered this—the taste of her—from more than six months ago. It had become something of an obsession, one he'd relived in his mind too many nights to count. The kiss wasn't new, but at the same time, it was. This encounter was an admission that they were both ready to step over into new territory. Admittedly, he wasn't sure what switched for Michonne, but there wasn't that distrust, that fear in her engaging eyes from hours, weeks, months ago. Her mouth moved with his with parallel need—sucking and pulling, deeper and hungrier, their tongues relishing the spaces they opened for each other.

They stumbled towards the couch and soon he was over her, touching, moving. Her breath, hot and sweet, as she melted in his mouth like chocolate.

Michonne's fingers tugged at his roots as he shifted lower to explore. "I haven't taken a risk like this in a long while," she said with quiet seriousness, "Not really, not completely. Not since I was... younger, naive and way too trusting. "

He paused and regarded her. "You want to talk about it?"

"No."

"You wanna stop?"

"No."

"Good. Me neither."

She grinned, and Rick was in awe of the joy and peacefulness in her expression. He wanted it burned into his brain.

Apparently, he was staring at her for too long because her mouth started to curve into a frown.

"Stay here," he said, "Stay in the moment."

"I'm trying to. But you know, for a guy who loves being half-naked, you're taking way too long to strip off this shirt."

He laughed and in an instant pulled back, straddling her knees. He lifted his t-shirt, peeling it off. "Better?"

"Much." She licked her lips, raking her fingertips down his abdomen, and he quivered.

If she kept doing things like that, there was no way he would last.

She pushed up onto her elbows and grabbed the tie of her robe. "My turn."

He placed his hand on top of hers. "No. Let me."


	18. My Chèrie Amour

**Chapter 18:**

 **My Chèrie Amour**

Rick looked at Michonne, smiled, and then lowered his head down and stirred his cereal. It was an unexpectedly apologetic expression for the sexy, tantalizing beast who, less than twenty minutes ago mind you, paralyzed her with merciless abandon like some sort of sexual savant. Something new was playing on his mind though and she wanted to know what.

"Okay. Spill it. What gives?" she asked, and Rick looked back up.

"Beg your pardon?"

She realized there's a tiny twisty thing going on inside her stomach, they were basking in the warm afterglow of this new aspect of their relationship whilst sharing a midnight snack, yet she had to be certain they were on the same wavelength. On the couch, as his fingers played across her neck, shoulders, hips, and thighs he watched her break apart with an open hunger in his eyes unlike he ever did before. Now? Now he just seemed reserved. But she guessed she was the one having a moment—an insecure moment perhaps.

"We're good, right? " she asked. "Because you're giving me a look."

"Oh," he shook his head and crimsoned with a grin, "It's nothing. I'm just in shock is all. About being with you."

She gushed. Thinking, _hoping_ that that was a compliment. She felt the same way. As they stood together in the dimly lit kitchen half dressed, Michonne couldn't be 100% sure the soft yet fiery intimacy they'd shared was real. "Funny, that goes for me too."

"Yeah? Don't get me wrong it was great, you were great. But," he scratched his jaw, "can't help but feel like we missed a step."

She frowned. "What step?"

He winced. "A first date. We get dressed up, I take you out to a fancy restaurant. How do you feel about that?"

She burst out a laugh. "Really?"

"Yes, really. If you'd let me, I'd like to wine and dine the woman of my dreams."

Her spoon dropped from her fingertips, her jaw went slack. "What?"

"You heard me." He reached across the counter, interlocking their fingers and grinning because it was so obvious his words floored her.

Wow okay, cancel the red flag alert. Insecurities be gone. Full speed ahead. Right? Her insides became saturated with a deep appreciation for him and as she was about to blurt out an answer in the affirmative to his request, the idea of going through the formalities of a normal courtship seemed ridiculous to her right then.

"Forget going out," she said. "How about we order in? Pizza, from _Angelo's_?"

"You're such a homebody," he chuckled, and yeah he was right because she really was and it was nice how he understood that. Ease and comfort were everything to her. "Okay, fine, tomorrow night after Carl's asleep you and I can have some alone time."

She leaned forward, giving him a quick kiss. "Thank you." After shoveling the last of her Frosted flakes into her mouth she asked, "Wanna watch a movie or something? I'm not very sleepy at the moment and there's this new show on Netflix I've been meaning to take a look at. "

"Mmm. The dystopian sci-fi about the super-powered girl having to fight the powers-that-be and prevent the end of the world?"

"That's the one."

"Sure." He collected their bowls, got up and placed them in the sink. "I'll get us some wine."

¥###¥

By the time the movie got to the halfway point Rick had his head on her lap with the rest of him lying stretched out on the couch like a snake, not one but two bottles of Merlot sat on the floor completely drained. Michonne struggled to keep her eyes and her hands off of him. Stroking the back of her hand against his cheek, her fingertips on occasion tiptoed towards the golden brown strands of hair on his bare chest, at which point his eyelids would fall shut and she would hear a soft _Mmm_ from him. It's the most relaxed she'd ever seen this man.

"Hey," he looked up to catch her staring, "Hey, what are you studying?"

She grinned. "You. Is that alright?"

He held her hand and brought her wrist to his lips. "Of course. My mind is on you too. Actually, I was wondering, you have your passport right?"

"Yeah."

"Good, cause I was thinking we could take a vacation somewhere, maybe Greece."

"When? When were you thinking this?"

"Just, you know…" he said with a self-deprecating laugh as his gaze slipped sideways. "Okay, I confess I had plans for us for awhile if we worked out. I mean I'd be in my office analyzing financial results against my forecasts and suddenly I'd wonder if you ever went snorkeling before. But then I remembered you haven't spent much time at the beach and I thought, well where has the greatest beaches?"

"That's how you came up with Greece?"

"Yeah. We could drink lots of ouza," he suggested and she laughed at his boyish enthusiasm. "Go diving, eat tons of fantastic food, it would be amazing."

"Sounds amazing."

"Yeah?"

She leaned over and kissed him. "Yeah."

He watched her with such intense satisfaction, Michonne thought he looked like a man who had consumed an entire buffet yet had his mind set on dessert, and her insides went all warm and gooey.

"One other thing," he said, pressing his thumb gently on her lower lip. "Carl's birthday is coming up and we haven't discussed anything, but I wanted to do a party next weekend. Invite his friends from daycare to the garden on the estate with the whole family. Even Negan."

The truth was she hadn't given it much thought. Other than probably a fun day out together, she did not have her sights set on anything extravagant that would require too much preparation. His mind, however... _Jesus_ that beautiful brain of his was like an express train going non stop, constantly planning for the future. Yes, that was the very essence of his job day in and day out, but Michonne was coming to appreciate that it was also the very essence of him as well.

She threaded her fingers through his hair. "I can tell you're pretty excited, so whatever you wanna do is good for me."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Her mouth landed on his again, firmer, more urgent. He reached up, slipping his hand to the back of her neck, his kisses just as needy. In a quick, decisive move Rick managed to switch places with her, rolling over her body and she found herself once again pinned beneath him. Not that she was complaining.

"Talk to me, tell me what you like," he whispered, nipping tenderly at her collarbone.

"Everything."

He growled at her response; his mouth making its way across her shoulder, warm hands already familiar with her stomach, explore her hips, her thighs and every inch in between. She palmed his upper arms, the feel of his smooth skin, his hard muscle, and the scorching heat between them left her frenzied.

"We should take this off," he said and just as she was about to scream out _Hell yeah,_ he suddenly climbed away from her and stood up.

Um, hell no! Where was he going? she wondered. She then looked across to see he had the remote control in his hand, a second later the television went black.

"Movie isn't so great." He helped her to her feet from off the couch; his arms pulling her in for a snug embrace against the heat of his chest. "The teenage character is very Hollywood."

She chuckled and wrapped herself around him. "Not realistic?"

"No," he planted a kiss on her temple. "When I was her age I couldn't tell _A_ from _Z._ I would never even spit on the floor unless my parents told me to."

"Hmm," she reflected, tilting her chin up to him. "For me, it was the opposite. I would spit on the floor for no other reason than simply being told not to."

Rick narrowed his eyes at her, searching. "I can't see it—you, a rebel. Before, you mentioned something about when you were younger. You didn't want to talk about it right then, but what about now?" His hands made soothing circles on her lower back. "I kinda hope you will."

She pushed up on to her toes and pressed a gentle kiss at one corner of his mouth. "There's nothing to talk about," she insisted, dragging her lips against his to the other corner and kissing him there. "It was a bad relationship, and it just about broke me. The end."

He nodded his understanding. It occurred to her at that moment that she had no idea of his past relationships, not in a detailed sense, like her he kept those tales to himself. Did his sympathetic expression mean he had horror stories too? Sooner or later she guessed she would find out, but she wouldn't push. Never.

Taking hold of her chin he anchored her gaze to his, and she immediately fell into a trance by the calm, adoring look in his eyes. "I won't break you."

His words punctured her soul. She said nothing to his confident assurance but her silence conveyed her disbelief.

"I won't," he insisted.

"You don't know that."

Bewilderment, for a few seconds, filled his eyes which was quickly replaced by a measure of sadness. Deep regret washed over Michonne at her blunt honesty and she pulled him closer. "It's okay," she said quietly, "I've decided that I want this."

"What I know," he spoke over her, "is that if we hold hands, jump off this cliff and cling to each other for dear life, we _will_ be okay." His fingers settled on her waist. "What I know is that we can save each other."

She nodded because he had a point: Love was that powerful. Her parents' love saved her from being lost in the system, even saved her from destroying herself. And Lori's love for Carl gave him a chance at life despite his mother's terminal condition. But that was parental love. What about love in the romantic sense? Michonne barely had a clue. Her biological parents split by the time Michonne was three. Her adoptive parents, however, were devoted to each other to the very end. So it was possible, right? Even for someone like her?

Rick held her hands, seemingly convinced that the answer to that question was a resounding yes.

"Come on," he said, and instead of making a right to her bedroom, he made a left towards his. A giddy pleasure fogged her brain at the thought of round two.

* * *

Rick had never thought of Michonne as a spendthrift.

He knew she kept her fridge, the cupboards well stocked of course. That was part of her job as a Mom: a drive to ensure that Carl never went without.

But he would never have imagined that she would go over the top. Or rather, that she might possibly be a shopaholic.

"Really think we overdid it Michonne," he said, both hands toting a dozen shopping bags as he shuffled up the pathway towards their home. "Can't believe I allowed you to convince me to buy all this stuff."

He watched her glide ahead of him through the front door of the apartment, unconcerned. "I disagree. Carl needs these things."

Yeah, he couldn't argue with that. Dragging along the load of purchases they'd accumulated for the day, through the tiny space and trying his best to keep them from banging against the walls, the furniture, he thought about the jeans, tops, the socks, the books, the pajamas—all necessary items but...

"Five pairs of sneakers?"

"My baby needed new kicks." She placed Carl down on his bean bag chair, giggling at Rick's expense as he huffed past her into her bedroom.

He hefted the bags onto her bed and she came up beside him. "Yeah but five? Of the same brand?"

Her head rolled back and her eyes closed for a moment in exasperation. "They are classic Air Jordans, Rick. And they were on sale and they are not all the same. Each one matches his new outfits." She patted his chest, lifted onto her tiptoes, and gave him a firm, albeit placating, but still quite a nice kiss.

Throughout the day she kept doing things like that. Being overtly affectionate: a brush of her hand on his back, a caress at his shoulders, and most notably to him was the way she very casually, very purposefully, hooked her fingers around his as they browsed through the vast, densely populated mall. He'd felt like he was being claimed. But he understood; she was happy and he found it adorable. That dreamy look in her eyes when she teased him, flirted with him, laughing to the point of tears at his silly jokes in a carefree manner very much like a teenage girl with her first crush. He lapped it all up. Naturally, therefore, he indulged her every whim.

His arms snaked around the waist of this enchantress, he hungered to have the heat of her body close. "I liked the flat ones. We could've at least gotten one pair of those."

She smirked, reaching up to toy with his shirt buttons. "Ugh...those Vans? I hate to break it to you but I am not raising some skater kid. Besides, they don't go with these cute sweat suits either." She pulled away jittery with excitement. Michonne drew out a long-sleeved, two-piece hooded suit from one of the glossy bags. "Bam! My baby is gonna be poppin.'" Her eyes twinkled with delight at the grey and blue cotton garment with its monogrammed gold stitchings. "Gotta look fly for his party next Saturday."

Rick laughed and slipped out his phone from his pants pockets just as it pinged with an incoming message.

"You should answer that," Michonne said when he chose not to respond after a quick glance at the sender.

"It's not important. All my attention today is for you." He flung the device over the bags and it landed with a dull flop onto her sheets.

"Mmhm. Smooth," she grinned. "While I am not above flattery, that's the third time you've ignored your phone. Could be urgent."

He scoffed, cognizant that the incoming messages were certainly not urgent. As a matter of fact, the explicit understanding that Jessica Bellici's persistent attempts to contact him, which began as of recent as one week ago, were driven by an impulse born from boredom, made it exceptionally easy for him to brush her aside because her texts and calls were frivolous.

He remembered that first email he'd opened out of sheer curiosity whilst sitting in a shareholders meeting: _Rick, can we talk? Just got back from Paris and it'll be nice to see you. Really. Call me. Jess._

Then a couple of nights later, vibrations from his phone jarred him from his deep sleep and with blurry, bewildered eyes he read: _I know it's been a while and we've lost touch. We both needed some distance, some time to think about our actions. But I am ready to have a sit down if you are. Hopefully, you'll reach out to me soon. Miss you._

Then again earlier that very morning another intrusion on his time—his family time—when Michonne, Carl, and himself were at Yogurtland: _Just drove by our favorite restaurant, that little spot by the harbor with the French chef who had an honest-to-god eyepatch, remember? Lol. We had so many good times there. Don't you think it's foolish to throw those memories away because of one drunken mistake? I do. Call me._

He would block her: that much he'd decided. Send a clear intimation that he'd preferred if they'd remain cut off from each other's lives. Harsh? Maybe, just a bit. Regardless, the unease that wretched low in his stomach was a familiar premonition of an impending disaster, and he would not risk his new life by disregarding it.

He kissed Michonne; reveled in the plumpness of her lips; he cupped her neck and tilted her head back further, delving deeper, losing himself in her sweet taste as it effectively eradicated all thoughts of his ex and her sudden desire to reinsert herself into his existence.

"Hey," he pressed his lips tenderly at the corner of Michonne's mouth, "think it's a good time to put Carl down for a nap."

She smiled, already breathless, "I could do that."

Her body molded against his. He felt her hands creep up the sides of his shirt, wanting and anticipating, yet timid. He found it endearing. This determined fireball of a woman when it came to intimacy, preferred to be granted access rather than taking it. Or was she coy because this was brand new? Nonetheless, he tugged his shirt out of his waistband, and instantly her fingers snuck beneath, stroking and teasing his bare skin, and he'd never felt so light and happy from a woman's touch like that before.

Suddenly, a whiff of something pungent crawled up his nose and he lifted his mouth a fraction. "You smell that?"

Michonne scrunched her nose. "Yeah."

Rick peered over her shoulder, just as she craned her neck around and they caught sight of Carl wiggling his butt in the doorway, tugging at his diaper. They both laughed.

"Duty calls," Rick said, and she groaned. He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. "No, I got it. You stay and unpack. Us boys will take it to the next room."

Minutes later, Rick returned with his shirt damp and his son freshly bathed, wrapped up in a towel. Half of the bags were cleared off and Michonne was sitting at the side of the bed.

"You're a wanted man, Rick," she said, without looking up.

Her words caught him off guard and at first, he didn't catch her meaning. "Excuse me?" His gaze then drifted downwards from her thoughtful face to her hands. Within them, she held his phone.

"This thing wouldn't stop going off." She got up and walked over to him, tilting her head with a questioning, and gently challenging look as she held out the device in exchange for Carl. He tried to kiss her but she withdrew herself and sat their baby on the edge of the bed next to his fresh change of clothes.

He pressed the home button. New messages. All from the same number.

"How come you never told me about Jessica?" Michonne asked, drying Carl off. Immediately though she bit her lip as if she wanted to seize the words from the atmosphere and shove them back down her throat.

"Sorry? How do you know—" Rick stopped himself. This woman lived in his home with his family for weeks, it's more than possible that someone would've carelessly commented about his last relationship. But why Michonne chose not to mention it before, he wasn't sure. In any case, he knew why _he_ chose to avoid this topic. "There's nothing to tell," he said outright. "That's how come I never told you about her. She's...she's nobody. These texts are out of the blue and I have no idea why."

"That's not true, is it? She's not _nobody_. Sherry mentioned her once, that you were engaged or something."

Rick groaned. "We weren't. And it wasn't Sherry's place to tell you that."

"I agree. But she did. And you didn't." Michonne took in a sharp breath as she pulled Carl's diaper up and over his legs. "Anyway, I know it's not that big of a deal, just didn't realize you still talked to her. It isn't my business."

"Come on. Don't do that."

She paused for a second and looked over at him. In a flash, her eyes conveyed a thousand things she wanted to say but didn't, thinking better of it and Rick could've felt his chest constricting. Without another word, she exhaled patiently before placing all of her focus on getting their son dressed.

Rick attempted to understand what was happening, what was going on inside of her head. Slowly, he crept up behind her and rest his hands on her shoulders. "Hey. What is this huh?" he asked, teasing. "Michonne Andrews jealous?"

"I'm not," she said quietly, her tone softening.

"Good. It doesn't suit you." He kissed her temple and she turned to face him. Her brow arched in that precise manner which told him that she had no intention of letting go of this unsavory discussion.

"Okay. Okay fine," he relented. "I screwed up."

She stared at him.

"Us being together, Jessica and I, was not something that should've been. She knew it and I did. But I forced myself to believe that I was making the right decision."

"Why?"

"Why? Well because when I looked at my life—really stopped and took stock of things—I realized I'd ended up in a far different place than I intended and I didn't like it. I didn't like what was happening to me. All I had was my job. And while business was good, really, really good, there was nothing else. There was _no one_ else I could hold on to, to keep me centered. To keep me grounded and sane with all the ups and downs I had to go through. It was just about the numbers, day in and day out and I grew tired of it.

"Jessica, she's an old friend, and even though I didn't have deep feelings for her, even though I didn't love her, not like I love you, I tried to use her as a quick fix and I am not proud of that." He'd been fighting so hard to change Michonne's perception of him after decimating her trust. He didn't want any more of his past mistakes to disrupt what they now had, what they were just beginning to build.

While a half smile lifted the corner of her mouth, she ran her hand soothingly through his hair. "Regret is a common aspect of everyone's life," she said, her voice warm with compassion, "Mine included. You don't have to feel bad about it. I won't judge you for it. I can't."

His arms came around her in a delicate embrace. Grateful. "And?"

"And," she sighed, "I love you too."

He grinned, feeling his heart crack wide open. "I can't tell you how much it means to me to hear you say that."

"Yeah?" she shrugged, her expression beaming in return as she linked her arms around his neck. "Well it's true."

"Good." He brought his mouth close to hers and stole a quick kiss. "I promise you Michonne, that no one else is more important when it comes to us."

"Us?"

He chuckled and gestured back and forth between them before pointing to their boy rolling around on the bed. "Yes _us._ "

"What we are is a huge mess."

He laughed and tucked her hair behind her ear. "How can you say that? After last night?"

She squinted her eyes pretending that her memory was faulty. "Last night was—"

"Perfect." He raised his palm to silence any forthcoming protests and she burst out laughing.

Suddenly, Carl's fretting pulled their attention.

Michonne sighed and released her hold on him. "To be continued."

"There is an us," Rick said, watching her lift Carl into her arms. "No take backs."

After she assessed that the kid was hungry, Rick asked, "Want me to take him? I could do his oats while you finish up packing."

"No," she said, bouncing Carl on her hip. "We're fine. You should go change out of those wet clothes though. Wouldn't want you to get sick."

Just then the doorbell rang.

"Or you can get that." She made her way to the kitchen and Rick ambled towards the front door wondering who, besides Paul or Jerry (both of whom were out of town), could it possibly be that would show up unannounced when for the past four months they'd never had unexpected visitors on a Saturday afternoon.

"Hello," greeted a young woman as soon as he opened up, "I'm looking for Michonne. Is she home?"

"Yeah. But who are you?" Rick folded his arms and studied the woman's confused expression. Behind her on the curb was a man with a duffel bag and a suitcase, passing cash to a driver of a taxi cab.

"Who am I? Who are you?"

He extended his hand. "Name's Rick Grimes."

"Oh, oh right. So you're the jerk who knocked up my big sister and is now shacked up with my other big sister? Hmph. Our God fearing parents must be rolling in their graves."

Rick's hand, along with his face fell, and the brash woman's eyes flickered beyond him.

"Michie, I'm back!"

He heard a clatter, followed by footsteps, and soon at his back was Michonne's startled voice.

"Maggie?"


End file.
